Mary Belle Haythe (1880-1952) (right), with unknown person , possibly sister Nannie Haythe (1874-1945) on the left.

My maternal grandfather Bernie Talbott’s mother, Mary Belle Haythe Talbott was born 146 years ago today on 19 August 1880 in Halifax County, Virginia, and died on 3 May 1952 in Danville, Virginia. She is my great-grandmother, and her lineage is without doubt the most intriguing in my family tree. It runs through Virginia piedmont planters and Revolutionary War officers, through Quakers fined by colonial courts for the stubbornness of their faith, through a soldier who fought under Oliver Cromwell in Ireland and then helped plant the first permanent English colony in the Carolinas, through a Virginia landowner who never set foot in Virginia, through an Ancient Planter of the early colony, and through the disputed shadow of an English earl whose name is carried today by two South Carolina rivers. It touches the founding of the College of William & Mary, the ancestry of two American presidents, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and the man who pioneered the use of ether in surgery. And somewhere behind all of it, perhaps, is a pilot named John Clark who guided a ship called the Mayflower into a Massachusetts bay in November 1620 — though genealogists continue to argue about that one. What follows is the story of whence Mary Belle Haythe came. It is, as it turns out, quite a story.

The Great-Grandparental Birthday Series – Part 5 of 8
“We all die twice ... The first time is when we simply cease to be; the second, when we are forgotten.” – Amelia B. Edwards in 1863, but often attributed to Ernest Hemingway and a host of others.

I’ve always commemorated my grandparents’ birthdays with Facebook posts on their birthdays. This year I’ve decided to expand that to my eight great grandparents on theirs. This is the fifth in that series.

Their lifespans ranged from 1867 (right after the Civil War) through 1981 (when I was in high school), a 114 year period during which momentous societal changes occurred. In current generational parlance, they were Missionary Generation through Lost Generation. I’ve written about how 1996 might’ve been the most pivotal year for our current timeframe, but imagine going from horse-drawn carriages to watching men land on the moon on television in one lifetime.

Most (six out of eight of them) were Pennsylvania Dutch, and we didn’t really move too far away from our point of disembarkation in Philadelphia to Berks County, Pennsylvania, which remains our family home. I have written extensively about them:

The remaining ¼ on my mother’s side were of English descent, going even further back than my Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors, but I know much less about this branch as my maternal grandfather was the only “Auslander” in our tightly-knit Berks County family. As the family records are less Teutonically-thorough I have written more speculatively about them:

My maternal grandfather’s mother was Mary Belle Haythe (1880-1952)
Mary Belle Haythe was born 19 August 1880 in Halifax County, Virginia, the daughter of Achilles Granville Haythe (1851-1920) and Florence Virginia Warren (1857-1908), and she was one of five children including Nannie Haythe (1874-1945), Walter Granville Haythe (1876-1909), Mattie Lee Haythe (1890-1965), and Ruth C. Haythe (1892-1900).

Mary Belle Haythe’s father (and my 2nd-great-grandfather), the magnificently-named Achilles Granville Haythe (1851-1920).

The Haythe Line: From Surry County to the Revolution
Mary Belle’s father Achilles was born in the years just before the Civil War. His father, Joseph Nichols Haythe (1823–1873), was born in Campbell County, Virginia, at the edge of the Blue Ridge, and died young at fifty, leaving his family in the piedmont the Haythes had worked for three generations.

Joseph’s father was John Thomas Haythe Sr. (1782–1835), born in Campbell County, and married in Lynchburg in August 1814 to Susan Nichols (1796-1874). John Thomas’s father — the first truly documented figure of consequence in this line — was Thomas Charles Hayth (1750–1821), the patriarch who set the family’s Virginia roots in stone, quite literally: Family records note that the original chimney of his estate house near Rustburg, in what is now Gladys, Virginia, still stands.

Thomas Charles Hayth served in the Revolutionary War. He first appeared on a company payroll for April 1777, a private in Captain Nathaniel Fox’s company of the Sixth Virginia Regiment, Continental Line, under Lt. Col. James Hendricks. He was discharged in February 1778 — the record noting simply “Left in Virginia” — but three years later, in April 1781, he was back, sworn in as a first lieutenant, and eventually rose to captain. A final entry dated 15 November 1783 reads: “Thomas Heath — Received through George Mason (1725-1792), amount due him.” Paid out, at last, through the hand of one of the Revolution’s great Virginia statesmen.

By 1771, Thomas had already patented 250 acres in Bedford County on both sides of the south fork of Bear Creek. In 1794, he sold his father’s Long Island estate — Long Island being in the Staunton River in Campbell County, not the New York variety — and moved to land near Pigeon Run, adjoining the property of Robert Alexander. The Haythe family was known for a large orchard there. His will, signed 16 March 1821, distributed his land carefully among his sons: Pleasant, Gilbert, William, Benjamin, Thomas. His wife Martha received the three hundred northern acres, the mansion house, and the personal estate for her natural life or widowhood. The will is a portrait of a prosperous piedmont planter, complicated, as were nearly all such estates, by the presence of slaves whose names — Lucy, Briddy, York, Nedd, Manson, Martin, Chloe — appear in the bequests as property.

Thomas Charles Hayth was the son of William Heath Jr. (Abt. 1727–1772), of Surry County, and through him descends from William M. Heath II (1674–1745), also of Surry County, who left his own detailed will in November 1745: parceling out land at Pigeon Swamp, bequeathing amongst miscellaneous property negro girls Pat and Poll to his daughter Mary, and negro woman Jenny to his daughter Rebecca. His wife Elizabeth Gee outlived him by nearly five years and left her own will in 1749, naming five sons and three daughters. The Gee family traces back through Lancashire, England, to John Gee (b. 1586) of Lichfield, Staffordshire. In William Jr.’s last deed, where he patented 91 acres on the south side of Staunton River, he spelled his name ‘Hayth.’ Likewise, William’s oldest son (Thomas) ensured that all his children born after 1773 (in Campbell Co.) were surnamed ‘Hayth’ also. Thomas and Martha’s first two children, Gilbert and William, were surnamed Heath and therefore were probably born in Bedford County before the move to Campbell County.

Cartouche from the Fry-Jefferson Map, 1755, the most important map of colonial Virginia, drawn by Peter Jefferson (Thomas Jefferson’s father) and dedicated to George Montagu-Dunk, 2nd Earl of Halifax, for whom Halifax County, Virginia, Mary Belle’s birthplace, was named. Source: Library of Virginia .

The Gilbert Line: Leeds to the Chesapeake Frontier
Thomas Charles Hayth married Martha “Patsey” Gilbert (1752–1828), born in Bedford County and buried in the Hayth Cemetery at Gladys. Her father was my 6th-great-grandfather Benjamin Gilbert Sr. (1728–1791), whose own father, Gervaise “Jarvis” Gilbert (1680–1739), was born in Leeds, West Yorkshire, England — probably the son of Michael Gilbert and Dorothy Hargrave — and immigrated to the Middle River Hundred in Baltimore County, Maryland around 1695, the year his name first appears in the county’s tax tables. Garvis Gilbert paid 5,000 pounds of tobacco to William Lough (Lowe) for the property and it was laid out as 100 acres, more or less, and contained plantation houses, edifices, buildings, fences, orchards, gardens, pastures and woods, became known as Lowe’s Lot and lay near the line of the land called The Agreement. Benjamin Gilbert Sr. went on to provide supplies during the Revolutionary War and is listed in the DAR records as performing Patriotic Service. The Gilberts are an English immigrant family who crossed the Atlantic frontier and stayed.

The Moorman Thread: Quakers, Cromwell, and the First Permanent Colony
But the deepest roots in Mary Belle’s line run through the woman who married into the Haythes a generation above Mary Belle herself: Nancy Ann Black Johnson (1827–Aft. 1880), who became the wife of Joseph Nichols Haythe and the mother of Achilles. Her ancestry carries some of the most extraordinary threads in this entire family history.

Nancy Ann’s line ascends, through several Virginia generations, to her 2nd-great-grandmother Agnes Clark (1712-1776), who married Benjamin Johnson Sr. (1705-1754) in 1728. Agnes was the daughter of Captain Christopher Clark (1681–1754) — militia captain, lawyer, merchant, justice of the peace in Louisa County, and law partner of Nicholas Meriwether, ancestor of Meriwether Lewis (1774-1809) of Lewis & Clark Expedition fame. Christopher was a man of substantial means: Land records show patents of thousands of acres in Hanover County from 1722 to 1739, and in 1730 he and Meriwether patented 17,952 acres together. His will, proved in open court on the day of his death in 1754, named his daughter Agnes Johnson first among his legatees, bequeathing her “one negro wench, her increase and whatever else she has or ever had in possession that was mine.” As with all the wills in this line, it is a document that commands respect and discomfort in equal measure.

Christopher Clark’s parentage is noted as disputed in the records, but the weight of evidence places him as the son of Micajah Christopher “Michael” Clark (1656-1706) and Sarah “Sallie Ann” Moorman (1662-1710) — and it is through Sallie Ann that this line reaches one of its most vivid characters.

Zachariah Moorman (1620–1702) was born on the Isle of Wight to a family of Quakers. While still in his teens he enlisted in the Parliamentary Army and became a captain under Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658), following him through the Irish campaign … and we all know about how that all went:

After the conquest, he remained for a time near Belfast, where he met and married Mary Ann Candler (1624–1668), daughter of one of Cromwell’s officers, Lt. Col. William Candler (1608-1680). After Mary’s death at forty-four — and likely due to the intensifying persecution of Quakers in England — he gathered his remaining family and set sail on the ship “Glasgow” from Southampton in 1669. After a stop in Barbados, they arrived near what is now Charleston, South Carolina, helping establish the first permanent English colony there before moving on to Nansemond County, Virginia, that same year.

Zachariah’s daughter Sallie Ann married Micajah “Michael” Clarke, whose own family had been on the same voyage from England and settled together. Micajah’s father, Michael Clark (1629–1678), stayed in Barbados and became known — as one does — as “Michael Clark of Barbados,” a Virginia landowner who never actually lived in Virginia. Michael’s father, Edward Clark (1592–1666), was listed as an “Ancient Planter of Virginia” in 1614–16 and again in February 1623, and in 1624 was awarded 200 acres by the Virginia Company as a result of his late father’s service. He evidently returned to England, resettling at his birthplace of Thriplow, Cambridgeshire. People often forget that the Atlantic has always been a two-way street.

That “late father’s service” may have been John Clark’s (1575–1623) piloting of the “Mayflower” in 1620. This is unconfirmed — and, as one can imagine, a source of acrimonious debate in genealogy forums — but John Clark had already piloted a voyage to Jamestown and back in 1610, died in Jamestown in 1623, and Clark’s Island in Duxbury Bay near Plymouth is named after him. The claim cannot be made with certainty, but it cannot be dismissed either; I have him recorded in my family tree as a 12th-great-grandfather.

The Johnson Line: New Kent, Aberdeen, and a Dorset Aristocrat’s Shadow
Christopher Clark’s daughter Agnes Clark (1712-1776) married Benjamin Johnson Sr. (1705-1754), born in St. Peter’s Parish, New Kent County, Virginia. The documentary record for Benjamin is unusually solid: A Louisa County deed (Deed Book H, pages 41–42) explicitly names his children — “five sons, Christopher, William, Benjamin, Collins and Newby, and three daughters, Sarah, Penelope and Agnes” — eight father-to-child relationships established in a single legal instrument. One of those sons was Christopher Johnson Sr. (1731–1809), a Quaker born in Hanover, Virginia, who married Elizabeth Moorman (1738-1809), daughter of Charles Moorman Jr. (1715–1788), great-grandson of the aforementioned Zachariah. Remarkably, Charles Moorman freed all his inherited slaves in his will — an act of conscience rare enough in eighteenth-century Virginia to be worth recording.

Elizabeth Moorman’s own ancestry reaches further back still. Her Adams line traces to Robert Adams (1577–1628), from the Island of Anglesey, North Wales, who arrived on the “Bona Nova” in 1620 to join the Martin’s Hundred Plantation — the hardest-hit settlement in the Indian Massacre of 1622 (please see the appendix below), which killed 347 people, one-quarter of the entire Virginia colony, forcing survivors back to Jamestown’s fortifications. He served in the House of Burgesses in 1623–24. Through his granddaughter Mary Adams (1720-1809), Elizabeth also descends from Richard Farris (1596–1637), a Londoner who emigrated in 1636 to Henrico Shire, Virginia, and lived briefly on Robert Hallom’s Curles Neck Plantation before his death. His daughter Sarah Elizabeth Farris (1634–1689) married planter Robert Woodson (1634-1707), and their line flows forward into the Moorman family. The Woodsons deserve some special focus.

The Potato Hole Woodsons
Robert Woodson was born at Flowerdew Hundred Plantation in Prince George County, Virginia, the plantation on the James River where his father Dr. John Woodson (1586-1644) had settled after arriving at Jamestown on the ship “George” on April 16, 1619, in the company of the newly appointed Governor Sir George Yeardley, who had invited John to serve as surgeon for the British troops protecting the colony. Dr. John Woodson’s legacy is one of the most layered in early Virginia history. Twenty of the twenty-five charter members of the First Families of Virginia were among his descendants — a lineage that also includes Dolley Madison, wife of President James Madison, and, through a different branch, Jesse Woodson James, who took his middle name in conscious acknowledgment of the family. But John Woodson’s prominence carries a darker distinction: A colonial census of 1623 recorded that six of the “twenty and odd” African captives brought to Jamestown by a Dutch and English privateer in August 1619 were owned by Dr. Woodson — more than any other colonist at the time. Unlike other settlers who recorded their African workers by name, Woodson’s entries listed them only as property. It is among the earliest documented instances of race-based slavery in British North America.

Historical marker W-96, “First Africans in Virginia,” Fort Monroe, Hampton, Virginia. Department of Historic Resources, 2015.

Dr. John Woodson was killed on 18 April 1644, during the opening assault of the Third Anglo-Powhatan War, struck down in sight of his own house as he hurried home from a patient. His wife Sara Winston (1590-1659), with the help of a shoemaker named Thomas Ligon who happened to be visiting, held off the attackers alone — Ligon killing seven Powhatans with his musket while Sara scalded one to death with boiling water and brained another with an iron roasting spit as they attempted entry through the chimney, killing nine in total. Her two young sons survived hidden in the house: John under a washtub, Robert in the potato storage pit. For generations, their descendants were known as the Tub Woodsons and the Potato Hole Woodsons. Robert “Potato Hole” Woodson grew up to become a substantial Henrico County planter, patenting thousands of acres along the James River with his brother John and the Ferris family, thus uniting two of Mary Belle’s earliest Virginia lines in a single household on the James River.

A massive 7-foot, 4-inch English long fowler often referred to as the “Woodson Musket”. According to family tradition, the oldest part of the musket (dating to the mid-1600s) was used by Thomas Ligon, who helped Sara Winston Woodson defend her Prince George County home during the Third Anglo-Powhatan War. The Virginia Museum of History & Culture in Richmond holds the musket on loan from Woodson descendants; this version was made a century after the attack, but has become the family’s tangible link to the story. Source: Virginia Museum of History and culture.

Back to the Johnsons. My 6th-great-grandfather Christopher Johnson Sr. mentioned above paid the 1783 Supply Tax in the Revolutionary War, and is listed in the DAR records accordingly as performing “Patriotic Service”. His son Timothy Johnson (1772–1801) married Lydia Ballard (1778-1820) in Lynchburg on 15 August 1799. Their son Timothy B. Johnson (1807-?) was the father of Nancy Ann Black Johnson — who brought all of this ancestry into the Haythe family when she married Joseph Nichols Haythe.

Benjamin Johnson Sr.’s parents were William Johnson (1677–1714), a Scotsman born in Aberdeen who died in New Kent, Virginia, and Sarah Penelope Massie (1672–1711), born and died in New Kent. Sarah was the daughter of Peter Massie (1640–1719), born in Coddington, Cheshire, England, and his wife Penelope Ashley-Cooper (1647–1711), born in Wimborne St. Giles, Dorset, and buried in New Kent.

Penelope is recalled in the family record as the illegitimate daughter of Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 1st Earl of Shaftesbury (1621–1682) — by Elizabeth Clementina Oldfield (1625-1682) of Sutton, Cheshire. The 1st Earl’s legitimate line produced only one surviving heir, the 2nd Earl of Shaftsbury (1652-1699); Penelope’s parentage rests on persistent family tradition rather than primary documentary proof, and should be understood as such. But the tradition is specific and old: The Wimborne St. Giles birth, the date, the Virginia emigration all cohere. And if it holds, it places one of the most consequential politicians of seventeenth-century England in Mary Belle Haythe’s ancestry at the remove of ten generations — the founder with Sir John Colleton of the Province of Carolina and of Charles Town in 1670, Lord Chancellor, Privy Councillor, the man for whom both the Ashley River and the Cooper River in South Carolina are named, and for whom John Locke https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Locke served as secretary. A musical interlude from 253 years later:

The Ballard and Lea Lines: Quaker Planters and the Virginia Tidewater
Lydia Ballard (1778-1820), who married Timothy Johnson in 1799, connects Mary Belle’s line to yet another remarkable thread. Lydia’s father was Barclay Ballard (1752–1814), born in Montpelier, Hanover County, a Quaker whose marriage intention was recorded in the Richmond and Cedar Creek Monthly Meetings. His father, William Sorrell Ballard Jr. (1715–1794), also a Quaker, married first wife Mary Sarah Byrom in 1734 (nine children) and then in 1768 to Rachel Clark (1714-1792), Agnes’ sister, who’d been previously married to Thomas Moorman Sr. (1705-1767), Charles’ eldest brother! Thomas had bought 200 acres on Tomahawk Creek in 1762, moved from Golansville, Caroline County, and owned twelve slaves. The Quaker commitment in this world ran deep enough to attract official sanction: In June 1684, the Henrico County court refused Henry Watkins Sr.’s petition for remission of fines “he not appearing himself to supplicate this Court but continuing still in his Quakerism”.

William Sorrell Ballard Jr.’s grandfather, Thomas Ballard Jr. (bef. 1654–1711), born at Middle Plantation in York County, Virginia, was a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses for York County, Colonel of the Militia, and justice of the peace. He owned a substantial estate at Middle Plantation — and in 1693, the Reverend Mr. Blair and the trustees of a proposed new college bought 330 acres from him for the new school. That school opened in temporary buildings in 1694. The Wren Building, begun on August 8, 1695 and occupied by 1700, stands on land Thomas Ballard Jr. sold. It is today the oldest academic structure in continuous use in America — the founding building of the College of William & Mary. His son, William Ballard Sr. (1684–1754), inherited what remained of the estate; the campus stayed. William Ballard Sr. married the wonderfully-named Philadelphia Ludwell Lea (1682–1754), and through her this line reaches its most decorated colonial figure: Her father, Col. William Ludwell Lea (1654–1703) — also known as William Leigh, or William Lee — born in York County, Virginia.

Col. Leigh was a man of remarkable public standing. He served as King and Queen County Burgess, Militia Captain, Colonel and Commander-in-Chief, member of the Virginia Council, and the first Judge of the Admiralty Court of Virginia. In 1703, he chaired the Virginia House of Burgesses. He lived on a branch of the York River and had to cross it to reach Williamsburg. Between 1682 and 1699 he patented land across St. Stephen’s Parish, King and Queen County — the tidewater at the height of its colonial confidence.

Through his other children, Col. Leigh’s descendants include a granddaughter who married Zachary Taylor (1784-1850), making him an ancestor of the twelfth President; a daughter whose line produced Lucy Ware Webb (1831-1889) , wife of President Rutherford B. Hayes (1822-1893); and another whose descendant Edward Ware (1760-1836) was the maternal grandfather of Dr. Crawford W. Long (1815-1878), who pioneered the use of ether in surgery. These are collateral connections, not the direct line to Mary Belle — her thread runs through Philadelphia Ludwell Lea. But they share the same patriarch, and the genealogical neighborhood is extraordinary.

Col. Leigh married Mary Ann Greene (1655-1703) of New Kent, whose father Charles Greene (1629–1720) had established himself in St. Stephen’s Parish, and whose mother Elizabeth Iverson (c.1632–1718) was originally from Edinburgh, Scotland.

The Shape of a Line
Trace it outward and Mary Belle Haythe’s ancestry fans across four centuries and two continents. There is a Campbell County frontier planter who fought the British and died in a farmhouse whose chimney still stands in Gladys, Virginia. There is a Surry County English immigrant family whose wills bequeath gold rings and slaves in the same breath. There is a Quaker thread that runs from Cromwell’s Irish campaign through Southampton and Barbados to the first English settlement in the Carolinas and eventually north to cedar-meeting-house marriages in Hanover County. There is a Cheshire-born mariner settling in New Kent; a Dorset woman of disputed but persistent noble connection dying in tidewater Virginia the same year as her husband; a Yorkshire clothier’s son crossing the Atlantic and appearing in Baltimore County tax tables; a wealthy Louisa County lawyer patenting tens of thousands of Virginia acres with the ancestor of Meriwether Lewis; and a tidewater colonel who chaired the House of Burgesses, held 6,200 acres on the York River, and whose children married into the families of two presidents, a Declaration signer, and a pioneering surgeon.

There is a York County planter who sold 330 acres to the trustees of a new college in 1693, not knowing he was selling the ground on which the Wren Building — the oldest academic structure in continuous use in America — would stand.

And then there is a physician who arrived at Jamestown in 1619 — the same year the first Africans arrived — and owned six of them, recorded in a census not by name but as property. That too is part of this line. Charles Moorman, four generations later and a great-grandson of Zachariah, freed all his inherited slaves in his will. The distance between those two facts — John Woodson’s nameless census entries in 1623 and Charles Moorman’s act of conscience in 1788 — is 165 years and the entire moral arc of the Virginia planter world.

Somewhere behind all of it, perhaps, is a pilot named John Clark, guiding a ship called the Mayflower into a bay in Massachusetts in November 1620 — though that part, we must admit, is still debated.

All of it converges, through the Haythes and Johnsons and Ballards and Clarks and Moormans and Leas and Woodsons, in a woman born in 1880 in Halifax County, Virginia, whose name was Mary Belle.

Mary Belle’s adult life
Mary Belle married William Edward Talbott (1874-1938) on 18 Nov 1896 in Danville, Virginia. I have written extensively on “Daddy Will” and his lineage previously :

Their marriage license is interesting. According to my Grandfather Bernie, his mother had lied about her age as 21 when she was in fact 16 in order to marry without parental consent; notice her parents are shown as “unknown”. Also notice that her birthplace is shown as “North Carolina”; Danville is right across the Dan River, and some of her siblings show Caswell County, North Carolina as place of birth, and others Danville and/or Halifax County, Virginia. Also notice that she spelled her name “Hayth” without the “e”, a version that hadn’t been used since her 2nd-great-grandfather Thomas Charles Hayth (1750-1821).

Mary Belle and William E. had eight children, DeEtta (1897-1972), Selma Florence (1899-1904), Empress V. (1902-1970), Juliette Verlie (1904-1974), William Achilles “Willie” (1907-1970), Garnett Catherine (1909-1998), my maternal grandfather Bernice Edward “Bernie” (1912-2004), and Skidmore Hughes (1919-2003). They were certainly creative in the naming department; my grandfather’s name was pronounced “BER-niss”.

Mary Belle Haythe (1881-1952), with daughter Juliette (1904-1974) circa 1906.

The 1910 Census shows them living at 310 Brambleton Avenue in Norfolk, Virginia.

The 1920 Census shows them at 125 Jefferson Avenue, in a house now known as the James Wood Offices. It was owned by Rabbi David Moses Kushner, who upon arrival from Lithuania in 1900 had lived with his wife in the home of cantor Yoelson, father of actor Al Jolson of “The Jazz Singer” fame.

125 Jefferson Avenue, Danville, Virginia, known as the James Wood Offices . Source: Google Maps.

William Edward “Daddy Will” Talbott (1874-1938) and Mary Belle Haythe (1881-1952), with son Skidmore Hughes (1919-2002) circa 1923, perhaps rightbefore they relocated to Miami, Florida.

The 1930 Census shows them at 330 4th Street in Miami, Florida, as discussed at length in the aforementioned “Daddy Will” piece.

The 1940 Census shows Mary Belle, Willie, Garnett, Julietta (and four children) at 225 Jefferson Avenue back in Danville. Known as the Robert Ross House, it’s one of the two oldest houses in the Old West End district, likely circa 1840. It was owned by the Sonnenberg family, owners of The Quality Shop on Main Street.

225 Jefferson Avenue, Danville, Virginia. Known as the Robert Ross House, it’s one of the two oldest houses in the Old West End district, likely circa 1840. It’s the middle unit on Google Maps.

Mary Belle was a member of the Main Street Methodist Church in Danville. When she died of natural causes on 3 May 1952 at 71, she had resided back in Danville for 14 years after returning from Florida (see the aforementioned piece on her husband for details). She is buried at Leemont Cemetery in Danville, on plot EF 18/19 next to her husband of 42 years.

Mary Belle Haythe’s Certificate of Death, 3 May 1952

Mary Belle Haythe’s Danville Bee obituary, 3 May 1952

Mary Belle Haythe was a child of the Missionary Generation — that cohort born between 1860 and 1882 who came of age in the post-Civil War South and spent their lives building, or trying to build, something permanent out of what remained. Her husband Daddy Will embodied the generation’s restless ambition: The sheet metal business, the Florida gamble, the thousand-mile move in pursuit of a boom. Mary Belle embodied its other face — the endurance, the rootedness, the willingness to hold the household together while the world kept rearranging itself around her. She watched the Florida dream collapse in a hurricane. She watched her husband die on a Virginia road. She watched her sons go to war and come home. She returned to Danville, to Jefferson Avenue, to the Main Street Methodist Church, and she stayed. When she died in May 1952, the G.I. Generation her sons belonged to was busy building the postwar American middle class — the inheritance, in no small part, of what she and Daddy Will had held together through the Depression years in that old double house on Jefferson Avenue. The Missionary Generation believed the future was worth the bet. Mary Belle Haythe made good on that belief in the quieter way — not by moving, but by remaining.

Appendix
The Indian Massacre of 1622
The Indian Massacre of 1622, which killed 347 people, one-quarter of the entire population of the Colony of Virginia, forcing the remaining settlers back to the fortifications at Jamestown; it was a really big deal. My favorite writer P.J. O’Rourke had some choice commentary on that whole era:

“Of the five hundred some colonists who arrived in Jamestown between 1607 and 1610, 440 of them died, mostly from starvation. The initial settlers landed too late in the year to plant crops and didn’t know much about planting anyway. Their only piece of good fortune was not being immediately evicted by the local landlords, the Powhatan Confederacy. This was an organization of about thirty Algonquian-speaking tribes that had formed a military alliance against Siouan-speaking tribes to their north and west under the leadership of Wahunsenacawh, father of Pocahontas. The Powhatan were well aware of the three rules of real estate. None of them lived on the location, location, location of Jamestown. The peninsula on the James River at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay was mosquito infested, too swampy for farming or hunting, and, wetland though it may have been, suffering a drought that left the colonists nothing to drink but brackish river water. ... The Jamestown colonists did not arrive with the equipment, supplies, or inclination to found a self-sustaining colony. The Jamestown business model was to export valuable commodities. But they couldn’t find any. They shipped a load of clapboard to England. The London investors who had funded Jamestown were not best pleased. They sent a stiff note along with their 1608 (inadequate) resupply of the colony. According to the historian James Horn, preeminent expert on Jamestown, the investors insisted that the colonists send them enough goods to pay for the cost of the resupply voyage plus a lump of gold, proof that the South Sea had been discovered, and somebody from the Lost Colony of Roanoke. And a partridge in a pear tree. Jamestown would go down in history—and down was the direction it was headed—for many American firsts. The kind of firsts you wish America hadn’t had. ... The Jamestown colonists were the first Europeans to invade the inland of our nation, sending raiding parties up the James River to steal Powhatan crops and occupy Powhatan land. In 1622 the Powhatan Confederacy made the first successful large-scale, tactically coordinated attack on Europeans, killing 347 of them. The colonists were pushed back into the original Jamestown fortifications. The Powhatan hoped the colony, if it remained at all, would be reduced to a small trading post. The Powhatan thought the colonists had been taught a lesson. The colonists—not a first—hadn’t. Warfare, sometimes acute, sometimes chronic, continued against ever more numerous and better-armed Jamestown forces. Meanwhile the colonists were deploying our country’s first weapons of mass destruction. Although, to be fair, they didn’t know that their germs and viruses even existed. ... All the tales of American Indian fighter heroics (whether your hero is Crazy Horse or Davy Crockett) turn to ashes in the mouths of the tellers when facts are considered. The New World was conquered by coughs, sneezes, and craps in the woods. The historian David Stannard, in his thoroughly disheartening book about the death and destruction of the Western Hemisphere’s aboriginal inhabitants, American Holocaust, estimates that the Powhatan Confederacy numbered about 14,000 people when Jamestown was founded. But the germs had arrived before the germy. The region’s population had already been reduced by diseases spreading from the first European contacts in the late fourteenth century, perhaps drastically reduced. By the end of the seventeenth century only about six hundred Powhatan were left, a mortality rate of more than 95 percent. Germs were the A-bomb. The Indians were militarily skilled and fighting on their own turf. Without germs the British colonists would have met the same fate that the American colonists dealt the British a hundred years later. And the U.S.A. would be a different country. (Although, given the demographic pressures in Europe, still plagued by illegal immigrants. But they’d be you and me.) In 1677 a treaty established what amounted to America’s first Indian reservation. This was land “reserved” for surviving members of the Powhatan Confederacy. The Treaty of 1677 was honored the way treaty rights on Indian reservations continue to be—making fraud instead of fighting the way to get Powhatan land.”

Meriwether Lewis
I mentioned that Captain Christopher Clark (1681–1754) was law partner of Nicholas Meriwether, ancestor of Meriwether Lewis (1774-1809) of Lewis & Clark Expedition fame. Right before this article published, I read an excerpt from This Vast Enterprise by Craig Fehrman discussing Lewis and painting a vivid picture of his era:

“In the last years after his court-martial, Lewis resumed his steady rise, reaching the rank of captain. While he never faced active combat, he crisscrossed the American interior, visiting Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Detroit, among others.

“Sometimes, he dreamed of going farther. Lewis speculated on western land claims and devoured newspaper accounts of the violence between settlers and Natives. If the downside of honor was challenging another officer to a rash duel, the upside was imagining yourself as a soldier-explorer—was envisioning new missions on the Ohio, the Mississippi, even the Missouri, a mysterious river on which, Lewis later admitted, ‘my mind has been unalterably fixed for many years.’

“Lewis’s reality was less exciting. He settled in as a regimental paymaster, a role in which he excelled thanks to his precision and stamina for travel. ‘I am quite delighted,’ he wrote to Lucy, ‘with a soldier’s life.’

“That changed with a surprising job offer. In the election of 1800–an ugly and polarizing affair, with Jefferson and the Democratic-Republicans facing off against John Adams and the Federalists—Jefferson won the presidency. Before his inauguration, he wrote to Lewis and asked him to be his private secretary.

“Jefferson admired Lewis’s ‘knowledge of the western country, of the army and of all its interests.’ Mostly, though, he needed someone he could crust. America remained angry and divided. When a Federalist senator learned that a sympathetic Supreme Court justice was sick, he responded with partisan calculation: ‘God grant him a life as long as Jefferson.’ Outrage and ideological fracture cropped up everywhere. Politics was almost certainly the cause of the argument that led to Lewis’s court-martial.

“The key thing, from the president’s perspective, was that Lewis had been arguing the Democratic-Republican side. Jefferson promised that, as secretary, Lewis would ‘know and be known to characters of influence.’ The pay wasn’t much, but he could save on expenses by living at the White House. As Jefferson put it, ‘you would be one of my family.’

“... When Lewis told a friend about the offer, he repeated Jefferson’s fatherly phrase. Then he wrote the president back, accepting the offer and emphasizing his desire to be ‘serviceable to my country.’

“Lewis arrived in Washington on April 1, 1801, just missing Jefferson, who had headed to Monticello. That meant the captain gave himself the White House tour. The President’s House, as it was known at the time, sat in a vacant field. It lacked northern and southern porticoes, and its interior was largely unfinished. Lewis ended up bunking on the first floor, in a room with un-plastered walls and a ceiling that had already started to cave in. It was better than an army hut, if only just, but Lewis was delighted to live with the president.

“As secretary, Lewis greeted visitors to the White House and steered them toward rooms with ceilings. He accompanied Jefferson on horseback and foot, serving as an informal bodyguard with his military bearing and height of a sturdy six feet. He spent quiet afternoons browsing Jefferson’s library, which was rich in geography and natural history. He sat next to the president at church.

“Lewis’s intelligence and drive led Jefferson to expand his duties, especially regarding Congress. The Capitol sat a mile and a half from the White House, connected by a mostly empty Pennsylvania Avenue that alternated between dusty and marshy, depending on the rain. Lewis carried messages back and forth, noting the partridges that resided along the avenue. (Legislators loved to hunt them.) He tracked congressional debates and met privately with key figures. His demeanor, remembered a charmed senator, was ‘easy and unaffected.’

“One of Lewis’s most important jobs was attending White House dinner parties. Jefferson directed every detail, from the guest list to the wine list, making sure to host one party one day and the other party the next. A Federalist thought the president was ‘separating the wheat from the chaff.’ The Democratic-Republicans surely agreed.

“Lewis watched and listened and put every guest at ease. On a typical night—a night when the menu featured beef, turkey, ham, and veal, along with rice soup and ice cream wrapped in pastry—he noticed a congressman struggling with his pasta.

“Was this strange sauce, the congressman asked, made of onions?

“It was not, Lewis replied. It was made of butter and flour. The dish was called macaroni.

“Jefferson entrusted Lewis with meetings where a president, or a paper trail, would be undesirable. A good example came when James Thomson Callender visited Washington. Callender, a journalist and a blackmail artist, had been fined under Adams’s Alien and Sedition Acts. Jefferson pardoned him and sent Lewis to give him some money—and to explain that a full refund would take ‘a little time.’ Callender exploded, threatening the president with damaging rumors. Before long, he began publishing stories about Jefferson and Sally Hemings.

“The fact that Callender survived this outburst suggested that, at the White House, Lewis learned something about self-control. He learned much from Jefferson—about people and politics and the depths of partisan spice. During one meal, the president dined with James Madison and John Quincy Adams, among others. Here, certainly, were ‘characters of influence.’ But Adams remained a Federalist, in addition to remaining an Adams; the mood, he wrote in his diary, ‘was of chilling frigidity.’

“Lewis must have marveled at his fortune to be sitting at that cable. He was in the same room as the president and two future presidents. Very few Americans got to contribute this directly to liberty and country.

“And yet there were stretches, even at the White House, when Lewis’s mood darkened, when he struggled with self-criticism and despair. ‘While he lived with me in Washington,’ Jefferson later wrote, ‘I observed at times sensible depressions of mind.’ What Lewis wanted, and maybe what he needed, was a role that fused all his passions: country, honor, the army, and rambling most of all.”

Over 2,115 km (1,314 miles) on the run up to Denmark and back, the Defender drank 216.11 liters (57.1 US gallons) of diesel and cost me the better part of €500 (about $550). That works out to 10.2 L/100 km (23 mpg US), which happens to be the exact official combined figure for the 122 PS 2.2 TDCi, right on the nose, something the factory rating and the real world rarely agree on so precisely. Not bad for a nine-year-old brick with the aerodynamics of a garden shed. It helped that the trip was mostly steady motorway and highway cruising rather than low-range crawling; A full week in the mud would have told a very different story. Fuel wasn’t cheap at an average of €2.223/liter (roughly $9.60 a US gallon), but at least it wasn’t out of spec.

That’s the equivalent distance from Reading to Bar Harbor, Maine and back, or a one-way drive from New York to Miami … anyone who hasn’t driven in Europe doesn’t seem to comprehend how long the driving distances really are.

I like to think I’m pretty frugal, but all-in the trip cost me €1,440.62, which is on par with a two-week US trip with economy airfare.

Now I need to schedule an oil and filter change … and not drive for a while.

My complete trip recap as a collection of my Substcak notes follows.

Packing up:

Bremerhaven:

and

German Maritime Museum:

and

U-2540:

German Emigrant House:

Crossing the Elbe:

and

Viking Museum Haithbu:

and

DLRK 50th Randers:

and

and

and

and

and

and

and

and

and

and

and

Hvidsten Inn:

Denmark cultural observations:

and

and

and

Randers Rainforest:

Hamburg:

and

International Maritime Museum:

Miniatur Wunderland:

and

Lüneburg Heide:

Photo albums:
Bremerhaven https://1drv.ms/a/c/5ed4c22a9f7768df/IgDh5G9T4KBLSJl8fVh8JfeeAd99rpFmYi9ZcY0qHzVY_Ug

Randers https://1drv.ms/a/c/5ed4c22a9f7768df/IgBaCJuRbMdnTqPSVBFfIPF0AcVkjtGi-ycCE1A7mblTABw

Hamburg https://1drv.ms/a/c/5ed4c22a9f7768df/IgCB2Sqi3tFDQ7eG78KP67urAbweR2nUldHxwCcGByUYq5c

Videos here https://www.youtube.com/@GunnarMiller

The Great-Grandparental Birthday Series – Part 4 of 8
“We all die twice ... The first time is when we simply cease to be; the second, when we are forgotten.” – Amelia B. Edwards in 1863, but often attributed to Ernest Hemingway and a host of others.

I’ve always commemorated my grandparents’ birthdays with Facebook posts on their birthdays. This year I’ve decided to expand that to my eight great grandparents on theirs. This is the fourth in that series.

Their lifespans ranged from 1867 (right after the Civil War) through 1981 (when I was in high school), a 114 year period during which momentous societal changes occurred. In current generational parlance, they were Missionary Generation through Lost Generation. I’ve written about how 1996 might’ve been the most pivotal year for our current timeframe, but imagine going from horse-drawn carriages to watching men land on the moon on television in one lifetime.

Most (six out of eight of them) were Pennsylvania Dutch, and we didn’t really move too far away from our point of disembarkation in Philadelphia to Berks County, Pennsylvania, which remains our family home. I have written extensively about them:

The remaining ¼ on my mother’s side were of English descent, going even further back than my Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors, but I know much less about this branch as my maternal grandfather was the only “Auslander” in our tightly-knit Berks County family. As the family records are less Teutonically-thorough I have written more speculatively about them:

My paternal grandfather’s father was Robert Pattison “R.P.” Miller (1882-1954)
R.P.’s parents were George Brobst Miller (1856-1937) and Henrietta Hosisia Dietrich (1857-1920), and he was one of five children including Amelia A. Miller (1883-1957), Grover C. Miller (1892-1916), Levi E. Miller (1894-1968), and Owen Miller (who died as a child falling off an ice house roof).

Big George and The Cross of Gold
Known as “Big George”, George Brobst Miller was a larger-than life type, as evidenced by his large signature on a share certificate that hangs in my cellar office:

Big George was defined by his strongly Democratic politics, and was a literal flag carrier for William Jennings Bryan, who ran unsuccessfully three times for president in 1896, 1900, and 1908 and became one of the most magnetic orators in American political history. Big George was a small-town Pennsylvania German farmer, knitting mill operator, Registrar of Wills ... a man whose world was Hamburg, not Wall Street. Bryan’s entire political identity was built around people exactly like him: Farmers and working people facing low crop prices and finding few politicians on their side. They held popular rallies and events; see “ox roasts” in the appendix at the end of this piece.

The gold standard was the specific enemy. A tight money supply meant debts were harder to repay, prices for goods stayed low while railroad freight rates stayed high, and the concentrated financial power of New York squeezed everyone in between. Bryan espoused populist politics while working within the two-party system as a Democrat, which is exactly what a Berks County German-American Democrat of that generation would have demanded. No third-party radicalism, just the Democratic Party as the vehicle for protecting ordinary people against concentrated power.

Bryan’s signature issue was “easy money”: Unlimited coinage of silver at a ratio of 16 to 1 to gold, identifying him squarely with agrarian interests against the urban East Coast businessmen who favored the gold standard. Bryan’s most famous moment was the “Cross of Gold” speech at the 1896 Democratic convention, where he thundered at the bankers and railroad men: “You come to us and tell us that the great cities are in favor of the gold standard; we reply that the great cities rest upon our broad and fertile prairies.”

Big George wasn’t just a Democrat, he was a true believer in the one national politician who spoke directly to his world. In fact, he felt so strongly about the party that he broke the usual Pennsylvania German/WASP naming conventions of using family first and matrilineal middle names for his eldest two sons: Robert Pattison Miller was named after his political heroes Robert E. Pattison (1850-1904), the only Democratic governor of Pennsylvania between the Civil War and the Great Depression, and Grover Cleveland Miller after Grover Cleveland (1837-1908), the 22nd and 24th president of the United States. Pattison had won the Democratic nomination in June 1882, which was the same month Big George’s first son was born.

When he wasn’t involved in political activities, Big George was a farmer and textile manufacturer. He died in 1937, with a headline estate of $46,100 or around $1 million in today’s money:

However, when his will finally made it through Orphans’ Court in September 1940, it was worth $131,843, or about $3.1 million in today’s money:

Note that this front page features a story on Gen. Carl M. “Tooey” Spaatz (1891-1974). He was from Boyertown, Pennsylvania, was the commander of Strategic Air forces Europe in WWI, became the first Chief of Staff of the US Air Force, and was the only US flag officer to attend both the German and Japanese surrenders. Between 1979-82, I was a member of the Carl Spaatz Composite Squadron 1102 of the Civil Air Patrol, including CAP Hawk Mountain Ranger School summer and winter programs; the school is on property near Lenhartsville, (founded by my 4th-great-grandfather Heinrich Lenhart (1773-1837), and I still own some adjoining woodland left to me by my Gran Chris. His great granddaughter is one of my paternal great-grandmothers:

An interesting twist in Big George’s lineage is that he is both my paternal grandfather’s father as well as 1st cousin once removed of my paternal grandmother; they were 2nd cousins once-removed, as George Miller Jr. (1790-1858) and his wife Catherine M. Gardner (1796-1886) were both a paternal second great grandfather/grandmother of my grandfather, and a maternal great grandfather/grandmother of my grandmother. This wasn’t at all unusual those days:

27 North 4th Street, Hamburg Pennsylvania, home of “Big George” and Henrietta Miller, childhood home of R.P. Miller and his siblings Amelia. Grover, Levi, and Owen, and later home to Levi and his wife Beatrice “Beatty” Miller (1899-1979). Photo by the author, 2025. I visited Aunt Beatty and her caretaker niece Betty Mitchell there many times before her death. Her porch was a prime viewing spot for the King Frost Parade:

Big George’s Big Family Tree
Big George Miller’s family line is indeed robust, living up to his nickname. On his father Edmund Miller (1826-1909)’s patrilineal side, his great-grandfather Johann Joerg (George) Miller Jr. (1754-1815), served as a Private in the 1st (Col. Daniel Hunter’s) Battalion1777, (Cpt. Nicholas Scheffer’s Windsor Township) Company, Berks County Militia, during the Revolutionary War, and one of the 23 1/2 of my Revolutionary War veteran ancestors:

His 2nd-great-grandfather was Johann Joerg “Hunter George” Miller Sr. (1721-1801), who was from Feldkirchen, Gönnersdorf in the western Rheinland-Pfalz, arrived in Philadelphia on the ship “Aurora” on 8 Oct 1744 with his wife Margaret, and settled in Windsor Township. “Hunter George’s” son Johann Joerg “George” Miller Jr. (1754-1815) married Susanna Alspach (1763-1824), whose Alspach/Reber lineage ran back to Fröschen in the Suedwestpfalz, and Langenselbold in Hessen.

Probsts and Brobsts and the Liberty Bell
Big George’s mother Carolina Brobst (1830-1905) was the daughter of Daniel Perry Brobst (1800-1876), who’d married his third cousin Maria Anna Brobst (1802-1863) in Lynn Township in 1823.

Daniel Perry Brobst was the great-grandson of Matthias Georg Probst (1736-1792), who was a Cpt., Lynn Company, 2nd Bn. Northampton Associators (battles of Trenton and Princeton), then 6th Co., 3rd/1st Bn., Northampton County Militia; Continental Line (serving under his 1st cousin 1x removed (not nephew) Lt. Col. Michael Brobst (1751-1814)); Cprl., Pennsylvania Militia, and Ranger on the frontier. He participated in the evacuation of the Liberty Bell from Philadelphia to Allentown for safekeeping in August 1777. Matthias George Probst’s father was Johann Michael Probst (1701-Aft. 1771), who was born in Langenau, Kandel in the Rheinland-Palatinate, and along with his brother Phillipp Jacob Probst (1699-1747) arrived in Philadelphia aboard the pink “John and William” in 1732, the latter settling in Lynn Township, and the former in Albany Township.

Johann Michael had come over unmarried, but upon arrival in 1732 soon married Anna Maria Kehr (1705-1754) in Albany Township. Note that during the Revolutionary War, Johann Michael received the title of Maj., Northampton Militia, although I believe the title was honorific in light of his advanced age, so I classify his contribution as “Patriotic Service”.

Philipp Jacob and his wife Anna Catherina Christ (1696-1760) had been married in 1720 in Oberseebach, Alsace, France. Their son Jean Michael Probst (1721-1771), was born in Oberseebach, and also came over with them on the “John and William” in 1732 along with three of their other children at the time.

Philipp Jacob received a warrant on 1 Aug 1734 for 200 acres of land in Albany Township; that warrant was only 22 months after their arrival, a most usually short period of time, so he may have already made arrangements for that warrant while still in Philadelphia. Philipp Jacob and his immediate family settled initially in what was soon to be known as Fetherolffsville, in northeastern Albany Township, Berks County, very near the western edge of Lynn Township, Northampton (now Lehigh) County. They built a log cabin near Kistler Creek in northeastern Albany Township, just a mile north of the Jerusalem (Red) Church in Wessnerville (now called Stony Run). Johann Michael Probst took his land in Weisenberg Township, Lehigh County, just a few miles southeast of Philipp Jacob’s land. I’ve placed detailed information on the Brobst Mill in the appendix at the end of this piece.

Photo credit: Pennsylvania Chapter – Palatines to America – German Genealogy Society

Now it gets confusing! Through her mother Maria Anna Brobst, Carolina was also the great-granddaughter of Martin Brobst (1747-Bef. Oct 1806), listed by the DAR as “Patriotic Service, Soldier”, with a service description including Cpt. Matthias Georg Probst (his 1st cousin 1x removed), Lt. Col. Michael Probst (his brother), and Henry Geiger of the 3rd and 6th Battalions of the Northampton County Militia. Martin’s Father was the Jean Michael Brobst just mentioned who’d come over at age 11 in the “John and William” in 1732.

So let me try to summarize this: Daniel Perry Brobst was Carolina’s father, and he descends from both lines: 1) His father was George Michael Probst (son of Matthias), and his mother was Maria Anna Brobst (granddaughter of Martin). So the two Probst lines had already converged one generation before Carolina was even born, and she ended up as a great-granddaughter of both Martin and Matthias, with a single parent (Daniel) carrying both lines. It’s a remarkable double-descent situation. Whew! Skiing the double-black diamond slopes of genealogy!

The Reitz Side; we need more Liberty Bell
Another of Carolina Brobst’s paternal great-grandfathers was Johann Heinrich Reitz (1747-1814) Cpt., 8th Co., 2nd Bn., Northampton County Militia; Captain of a squad that guarded Frederick Lieser when he hauled the Liberty Bell from Philadelphia to Allentown, PA in 1777 . He had emigrated to Whitehall township from Flörsbach, Gelnhausen, Main-Kinzig-Kreis.

Another familial wrinkle
Back to her mother’s side, one of her maternal great-grandfathers was Johann Peter Friesz Jr. (1757-1834), a Pvt., Cpt. Matthias Brobst’s Co., Lynn Township Militia; Pennsylvania State Militia; Continental Line; Battles of Brandywine and Germantown. His father and mother had emigrated from Rossbach and Steinsfurt, respectively. Interestingly, her mother’s paternal grandmother Anna Maria Friesz (abt. 1750-Bef. 1806) and maternal grandfather Johann Peter Friesz Jr. (1757-1834) were siblings. Nothing alarming; just run-of-the-mill pedigree collapse. Her maternal Reichelsdorfer ancestors were from Ittlingen, Baden-Württemberg, and one of her maternal ancestors, my paternal 8th-great grandfather Ulrich Leibengut (1688-1745) was born in Melchnau, Canton Bern, Switzerland, and with a group of Alsatians, arrived in Philadelphia aboard the ship “Charming Betsy” in 1733, eventually settling in Douglas Township, Berks County.

Levi the progressive
R.P.’s mother Henrietta Hosisia Dietrich’s lineage is equally interesting. Her father Levi Fisher Dietrich (1832-1921) was written up in the Historical and Biographical Annals of Berks County Pennsylvania as follows:

“Levi F. Dietrich, son of Daniel and Salome, was born in Windsor township July 23, 1832, and was educated in the common schools of his district and at Whitehall Academy, in Cumberland county, Pa. He taught school in Centre township three terms. In 1855 he became a practical farmer, and has attained considerable success in that line. His home farm consists of 165 acres of the best land in the township (Centre) and is kept in excellent condition; the buildings and general condition of farm and livestock could not be improved upon. He also owns a farm of 103 acres elsewhere in the township, and this he has rented. About 1897 he sold a half interest in the old Centre township Dietrich homestead to his brother, Daniel F. . Mr. Dietrich has ever been prominently identified with the progressive movements of the district. He is a Democrat in politics, and has served seven years as school director, and as assessor nine years. In 1884 he was elected prothonotary of Berks county, serving most efficiently from Jan. 1, 1885 until Jan. 1, 1888. He and his family are faithful members of Belleman’s Lutheran Church, where Mr. Dietrich has served as deacon for many years.”

Levi’s great-grandfather Johann Adam Dietrich (1740-1817) was a Sgt., 6th (Col. Joseph Hiester’s) Bn., Cpt. Jacob Baldy’s Co., Berks County Militia, 1780, which took part in the battles of Long island and Germantown. Note that Col. Joseph Hiester (1752-1832) is my 1st cousin 7x removed, and is a completely different rabbit hole which wraps around to my wife’s lineage. Johann Adam’s family had emigrated from the Rheinland-Pfalz.

Levi’s mother Salome Fisher (1809-1878) was also descended from Palatine Germans, and her grandfather was Valentine Fisher (1752-1833) Pvt., 3rd Cl. 6th (Cpt. Boocher’s) Co. 5th Douglas Township Bn. Berks Militia. Valentine’s father and mother were from Schwäbish Hall, Baden-Württemberg.

Another Valentine
Henrietta’s mother Louisa Moser (1833-1904)’s great-grandfather Valentine Moser (1759-1833) was a Lt., 5th (Capt. Soder’s Bern Township) Company, 3rd (Lt. Col. Michael Lindemuth’s) Battalion, Berks County Militia, 1777. This proves to be a bridge to my German spouse Karin Spies’s family;

Gen. Johann Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg (1746-1807) is shown in my family tree software as “uncle of husband of 2nd cousin 6x removed”. “2nd cousin 6x removed” was Rebecca Hiester 1781-1841). Her father was 1st cousin 7x removed Joseph Hiester (1752-1832), and her grandfather Johannes Hiester (1707-1757) married my 6th great-grand-aunt Maria Barbara Epler (1736-1809), and they in turn came from my German wife’s father’s hometown over the hill from where they live now. The Hiesters became a Pennsylvania political and military dynasty. The marital connection is via Rebecca Hiester’s sister, my 6th great-grandmother Magaretha Barbara Epler (1740-1805), and then down through the Mosers, Lenharts, Dieners and Millers. There are still lots of “Hüsters” up there (the regional Plattdeutsch pronunciation of “ue” as “ih” is behind both this and the “Miller” vs. “Mueller” spellings), so my wife and I were almost doubtless distantly related as well.

Applying a bit of AI analysis to the family tree software outputs to tune some of the entries up and analyze them, my wife shows up as “4th cousin 6x removed of husband of 2nd cousin 6x removed of Gunnar Miller”. As long suspected, the connection is through the Womelsdorfs and Riedesels on my wife’s patrilineal side to her grandmother Lina Hackler (1905-1938), and the Weisers, Muhlenbergs, and Hiesters on the Berks County side through marriage up through my patrilineal side, specifically when my 7th great-aunt Maria Barbara Epler (1736-1809) married Johannes Hiester (1707-1757), making Governor of Pennsylvania Joseph Hiester (1752-1832) my 1st cousin 7x removed, and when my 2nd cousin 6x removed Rebecca Hiester (1781-1841) married Henry A. P. Muhlenberg (1782-1844). As I’ve quoted before, “If you discover that you share a common ancestor with somebody from the 17th century, or even the 18th, it is completely unremarkable. The only thing remarkable about it is that you happened to know the path.”

So to stay on course, one of Maria Barbara Epler’s sisters was Margaretha Barbara Epler (1740-1805), who was Valentine Moser’s mother and Henrietta’s 2nd-great-grandmother. My 7th-great-grandfather Johannes Epler (1698-?) and his wife Anna Barbara Wüster (1702-1775) had emigrated in 1738 from Gaiberg/Waldhilsbach outside of Heidelberg in the Rhein-Nekar-Kreis, Baden-Württemberg. They arrived in Philadelphia on 30 Aug 1737 aboard the “Samuel” with eight children, one of whom had been born at sea.

Too many Fishers in the sea
Valentine Moser’s wife Rosina Fisher (1761-1815)’s ancestors were from Langenselbold and Alpenrod, Hessen. They settled in Bern Township, and have a church named after them. Her father Johann Peter Fischer Sr. (1735-1787) was a Pvt. in Capt. John Ludwig’s Co., Col. Joseph Heister’s 6th Battalion, Berks County Militia. Col. Joseph Hiester (1752-1832) is my 1st cousin 7x removed.

Valentine Moser’s son Samuel Moser (1801-1862) married Maria “Polly” Bode (1796-1870), whose matrilineal line went back to the Staudts from Wolfersweiler (near Strasburg) who also settled in Bern Township, and the Kirchners from Langenselbold who ended up in Lenhartsville. My 6th-great-grandfather Johann Michael Staudt (1712-1776) arrived in Philadelphia on the Brigantine “Philadelphia Merchant on 18 Sep 1733, and his grave marker at Bern Church has a modern plaque stating that he was the first German Staudt/Stoudt in America. He had 12 children total, four of whom were Revolutionary War veterans, including my 7th great-grandfather Johannes Staudt (1737-1801), who, served as a 2nd Lt in the 2nd (Capt Minich’s) Company, 3rd (Col. Lindemuth’s) Batt, Berks Co Militia.

Coincidentally enough, Polly’s patrilineal line includes the Bodes/Budes and Merbots, who were from Nieder-Eschbach Hessen, which is a neighboring village to where I live now. My paternal 6th-great-grandfather Johann Peter Bode (1735-1808) arrived in Philadelphia on the “Edinburgh” in September 1753, and settled in Leesport.

R.P.’s adult life and the beginning of a brand
R.P. Miller attended Hamburg High School, after which he worked in the family businesses. In 1911, R.P. Miller married Cora Susanna Lenhart (1878-1949) about whom and her lineage I wrote extensively on her birthday:

45 North 4th Street, Hamburg, Pennsylvania, home of R.P. and Cora Miller and their sons Grand Bob and Uncle Munny. Photo credit: Google Maps .

In 1911, he founded the Robert P. Miller Company in Shoemakersville, the next town down the Schuylkill River from Hamburg (see appendix) for the history). The company employed 90 sewers, and R.P. served as general manager and treasurer for 43 years. I anticipate writing an extensive piece on the company at some point, but will share some thoughts in the following photo captions:

RP Miller Company knitting mill, 331 Main Street, Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania. Source: Google Maps. It is now a food bank for military families

The RP Miller Company knitting mill, 331 Main Street, Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania; photo taken by the author in 2016. Note the “Art-Tex” branding still visible.

Products were mostly underwear; union suits, ladies vests, t-shirts, and turtlenecks. R.P. Miller products are still sold under license today, including Japan .

RP Miller Company knitting mill truck. Late ‘20s- early ‘30s Ford Model AA . It was Ford’s heavy-duty truck platform, introduced in 1927 alongside the Model A car, and had a 4-cylinder engine producing about 40 horsepower. Many businesses ordered the bare chassis and had custom bodies fitted by local coachbuilders, which appears to be the case here with that distinctive open side-curtain delivery/passenger body.

The R.P. Miller Company had a sales office in Suite 3117 , 350 5th Avenue, New York, New York, which is the Empire State Building. My paternal grandmother Christine Diener’s family business Diener Knitting Mills Inc. also had an office in the empire state building in Suite 4914.

He was very civic-minded. He was a director of the Berks County Humane Society, a director of the Lock Haven Suburban Water Company, and was on the Hamburg Borough Council, Recreation board, and Civil Service Commission (which oversaw municipal hiring, which was important for keeping patronage politics out of borough employment). He was a member and consistoryman of the Hamburg First Evangelical and Reformed Church; the E&R church was the dominant Pennsylvania Dutch denomination, a 1934 merger of the German Reformed and Evangelical Synod traditions. A consistoryman was a lay leader of the congregation, roughly equivalent to a deacon or elder -- a serious, sustained commitment, not just pew-sitting. He held that role since 1920, over three decades. He was also a member of both the Hamburg and Shoemakersville fire companies.

He was a past master of the Hamburg Vaux Masonic Lodge No. 406 and Reading Consistory, Scottish Rite Masons, and the Raja Temple Mystic Shrine. The Scottish Rite is the appendant body that confers the higher degrees of Freemasonry above the basic three. The Reading Consistory served Berks County and conferred the 32nd degree. A significant additional commitment beyond the lodge itself. Rajah Temple membership required the Scottish Rite or York Rite degrees first. Rajah Temple was the Reading-based Shrine, one of the more socially prominent fraternal organizations of the era. The Shriners’ hospitals were already well established by R.P.’s time.

I stumbled across an itinerary booklet from a train trip my great-grandfather R.P. Miller took with the Rajah Temple from Reading to Los Angeles in 1929. There was also a menu from the return leg from Vancouver to Minneapolis . The scale is extraordinary. Reading to Los Angeles via Colorado Springs, Denver, Salt Lake City, Riverside — then up the Pacific Coast through Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz, Palo Alto, San Francisco, Yosemite, Portland, Tacoma, Seattle, Vancouver — then through the Canadian Rockies via Jasper, Lake Louise, Banff, Calgary — then Minneapolis, St. Paul, Chicago, and back to Reading. 8,763 miles to Minneapolis alone. The full circuit must have been close to 10,000 miles. In 31 days. In 1929. $545 per person sharing a lower berth is roughly $10,000 in today's money. Then four months later the stock market crashed, and that clearly put the kibosh on luxury travel for a while.

I posted the full program to my Facebook diary, and my Oley Valley High School friend Brad Boyer replied that his great-grandfather Frank J. Boyer was the conductor on the trip! His office at 111 N. 6th Street in Reading was right down from the Raja Temple. According to Brad, he operated a tourism business on the side but that office was his publishing company. He was a Fundamentalist Christian publisher and editor of an anti-evolution, anti-modernist magazine called the Bible Champion, and he was the Secretary/Treasurer of the Bible League of North America. They were pretty big in the Fundamentaist/ Modernist debate in the 20’s. He must’ve put aside any qualms he might’ve had about masonic mysticism. Brad included a photo of his original as well. Berks County truly is a small world.

R.P. was also a member of the Wyomissing Club and Lehigh Valley Club. The former was the premier private social club of Berks County, based in Wyomissing just outside Reading, and the latter a similar establishment club serving the Allentown/Bethlehem business community.

Robert Putnam wrote the definitive autopsy in “Bowling Alone” in 2000 -- the collapse of social capital across exactly these kinds of institutions, Masons, Rotary, church membership, civic boards, all declining in lockstep from roughly the 1960s onward. Television gets part of the blame. Suburbanization and the car get more. The specific Pennsylvania Dutch version of it -- where the E&R church, the lodge, the fire company and the borough council were essentially the same thirty men rotating through different chairs -- was probably especially fragile once any one pillar started to weaken. Hamburg isn’t alone. Every small city in the industrial northeast has the same story -- the Wyomissing Club, the Rajah Temple, the Reading Consistory -- institutions that seemed permanent in 1954 and are shadows or memories by 2026. R.P.’s obituary reads like a document from a completely different civilization. Which in a sense it is.

A 1925 photograph of the Hamburg Cinosam Club baseball team, including my great-grandfather Robert Pattison Miller (1882-1954) and his sons, my grandfather Robert George Lenhart Miller Sr. (1913-1999) and my great-uncle Edmund “Munny” Solomon Lenhart Miller (1915-1978). Note that “Cinosam” is “masonic” spelled backwards. During the early 20th century, Masonic baseball teams and even leagues were fairly common across the country. Hall of Famers including Rogers Hornsby, Cy Young, Ty Cobb, and Honus Wagner were active Masons. The Illinois Grand Master actually tried to rein things in, ruling in 1909-1910 that all-Masonic clubs couldn’t use “Masonic Baseball League” or any similar name, on the grounds that “it would not do for lodges to vote funds for the entertainment and amusement of a few members.” The clubs kept playing regardless, just under names such as “Cinosam.”

RP Miller’s 1941 draft registration card, showing him residing at 45 North 4th Street in Hamburg, and self-employed in Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania. Note that the household telephone number was 586.

R.P. Miller obituary, January 1954.

R.P. Miller died 6 Jan 1954 at age 71, and is buried at St. John’s Cemetery in Hamburg. This is what he left behind: One street, one mill, one family that sent one son as far from Hamburg as the Pacific could carry him and brought him home again. Hunter George arrived with nothing but a name and a warrant for land. By 1954, the name was on a sales office in the Empire State Building, on a gravestone at St. John’s Cemetery, on the sleeves of a Navy officer who had navigated a flat-bottomed ship through the waters off Okinawa, and an eldest son who continued to lead the company he’d founded for 57 years, which ironically ended up being “really big in Japan”. Not bad for one Pennsylvania Dutchman.

R.P. was born in 1882, placing him at the tail end of what Strauss and Howe called the Missionary Generation -- the same cohort as my maternal great-grandfather William Edward “Daddy Will” Talbott (1874-1938), who appeared elsewhere in this great-grandparental series:

Both men believed that building things was a form of moral duty. But where Daddy Will expressed that by picking up his family and chasing a Florida boom a thousand miles from home, R.P. expressed it by staying within a two-mile radius of his German immigrant 3rd-great-grandfather’s homestead and building every institution his small Pennsylvania town asked of him. Daddy Will was the Missionary as mobile builder, R.P. was the Missionary as rooted builder, but both had the same impulse to build institutions and community as moral expression. One Missionary traveled to find his purpose. The other never needed to leave to find his.

R.P. and Cora’s two sons.
I will spend a few minutes on his and Cora’s two sons, as they were emblematic of what historians call the G.I. Generation, the cohort that grew up in the Depression, went to war, and came home to build the postwar American middle class with a matter-of-fact competence that their own children would spend decades trying to understand.

Robert G.L. Miller Sr. (1913-1999), my paternal Grand Bob, was Hamburg High School Class of ’31, prepped at Mercersburg Academy Class of ‘33, and then attended Lehigh University, Class of ’37.

He was owner, Secretary, and Treasurer of the R.P. Miller Company for 57 years from 1935-1992, after which my father Robert George Lenhart “Bob” Miller Jr. (b. 1940) (Hamburg High School Class of ‘58 and Lehigh University Class of ‘62) oversaw it until eventually winding it down and licensing the name at the turn of the 21st century. Grand Bob lived to 85. I plan to write a stand-alone piece on him, as well as the company, in the future.

During WWII, he was considered essential to the war effort in his role at the mill, but (according to my father) his mother Cora kept her first-born son at home by telling the draft officer (a personal friend) that he had already taken one of her sons, and should not take a second. He was assigned as an Air Raid Warden during the war; considering the fact that the Schuylkill River industrial corridor was still humming, Bethlehem Steel wasn’t that far away, and the true extent of Nazi German air power wasn’t fully known, there was genuine concern.

His wife Christine Elizabether Diener (1913-2011), my paternal Gran Chris, was also Hamburg High School Class of ‘31, prepped at Misses Kirk’s College Preparatory School in Bryn Mawr, and was Wellesley College Class of ’36. She lived to 98. More on her when I write on her father Irwin Albert Diener Sr. (1867-1936) on his birthday in October, but as I mentioned in a piece on her mother Mary Laura “Mamie” Diener (1877-1949), and anticipating some questions from the eagle-eyed amongst us, even though “Miller” is a very common name, yes, my paternal grandparents were second cousins once removed, as George Miller Jr. (1790-1858) and his wife Catherine M. Gardner (1796-1886) were both a paternal second great grandfather/grandmother of my grandfather, and a maternal great grandfather/grandmother of my grandmother. This wasn’t at all unusual those days.

They married 4 Sep 1937 in Hamburg (see link to home movies below).

Grand Bob and Gran Chris first lived at one the Diener family homes in Hamburg at 145 S. 4th Street, before moving to 29 N. 4th Street.

29 N. 4th Street, Hamburg Pennsylvania. Photo from Google Maps.

Grand Bob’s initials “RGLM” are still on the brass eagle door knocker at 22 N. 4th Streetdown and across the street, where Gran Chris’s mother Mamie Miller Diener lived in the 1940s until her death.

22 North 4th, Hamburg, Pennsylvania. My Grand Bob’s initials “RGLM” are still on the brass eagle door knocker. Photo by the author, April 2025

On V-J Day 1945, they and their then three children, my father Robert G.L. “Bob” (b. 1940), Cynthia Christine (b. 1943), and Gretchen Louise (b. 1944), moved to Tall Spruces, R.D. 1 Mohrsville.

Tall Spruces, R.D. 1 Mohrsville, Pennsylvania. Photo by the author in 2024.

Grand Bob’s Reading Eagle obituary, 6 Apr 1999.

Grand Bob’s tombstone, Saint John’s Cemetery, Hamburg, Berks County, Pennsylvania.

Grand Bob’s younger brother Edmund Solomon “Munny” Miller (1915-1978) also graduated from Hamburg High School, Class of ’33, and graduated from Duke University in 1937. The Duke Alumni Register confirms Edmund Solomon Lenhart Miller attended the Naval Indoctrination School at Fort Schuyler in the Bronx in 1944. This indicates he completed an intensive 90-day officer training program, placing him on track for an LST (Landing Ship-Tank) assignment in June 1944. He was assigned to the USS LST-728, which was in the Asiatic-Pacific theater. Okinawa. April through June 1945. It earned one battle star for Okinawa, one of the bloodiest amphibious operations of the entire war.

His family was about as German-American as it gets, going back generations in Berks County, so the US Navy’s policy of routing German-Americans and Italian-Americans away from the European theater was systematic and deliberate, not informal. It wasn’t punitive exactly, it was simply considered a security and morale risk to put men in combat against their own ethnic homeland, or in positions where they might encounter relatives, or where loyalty questions could even theoretically arise.

He was Navigator and Recreation and Welfare Officer. Navigation on an LST was a serious responsibility, he was literally steering the ship. The Recreation and Welfare posting is the junior officer collateral duty that every young Ensign gets piled on top of their real job. Every wardroom has one. It’s the Navy’s way of saying “you’re also responsible for keeping the crew sane between battles.” Okinawa to Leyte to Guadalcanal in July 1945. He was moving through the Pacific in the final weeks before the atomic bombs. Had Japan not surrendered in August, LST-728 with Ensign Miller at the navigation table would almost certainly have been in the first wave of Operation Downfall, the invasion of the Japanese home islands, which military planners projected would dwarf even Okinawa in casualties. The LST crews had a particular misery all their own. They were slow, flat-bottomed, and rode terribly in open ocean. The crew nickname “Large Slow Target” was not entirely a joke in Okinawa waters. The kamikaze campaign at Okinawa was the most intense and sustained of the entire war, and LSTs loaded with fuel, ammunition, and vehicles were exactly what the kamikaze pilots were looking for. A hit on a fully loaded LST was catastrophic.

Okinawa was the largest amphibious assault in the Pacific Theater of World War II, a 165-day battle the combatants themselves called the “typhoon of steel,” with some 50,000 Allied casualties and around 100,000 Japanese casualties. For the Navy specifically, 15 amphibious ships were sunk and 386 ships damaged, with the kamikaze campaign being the primary weapon against the fleet. LST-728 was exactly the kind of slow, large, fully loaded target the kamikazes were hunting. Munny’s ship spent April through June 1945 in those waters.

This is Uncle Munny’s ship, photographed less than three weeks before the Okinawa assault began on 1 Apr 1945. The LCT on the main deck illustrates exactly what LSTs did that nothing else could. They didn’t just carry cargo, they carried other vessels. LCT-1244 rode on LST-728’s deck all the way from Tulagi and was then launched directly into the Okinawa assault on April 1. Munny as Navigator was plotting the course that put that landing craft on that beach on that day. Tulagi is in the Solomon Islands, which perfectly matches the War Diary’s July 1945 reference to Guadalcanal operations. The ship was working that whole southwestern Pacific circuit.

“LCT(6)-1244 secured to the main deck of USS LST-728, at Tulagi, Solomon Islands, 10 March 1945. LST-728 was enroute to Okinawa where she launched LCT-1244, 1 April 1945. Frame from the film “Miscellaneous Scenes, Okinawa, Ryukyu, Tulagi and Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands”, National Archives ID 17623, Local ID 111-ADC-3820. Dept.of the Army

He commissioned as an Ensign, not yet a Lt. jg. The Lt. jg. came later, consistent with his gravestone rank. By February 17, 1946, he’s Lt. (jg.) Edmund S. L. Miller on LST-728, sailing from Navy No. 3913 to Sasebo, Japan. The Ensign from the October 1944 commissioning report earned his promotion during the Okinawa campaign and the occupation that followed. Sasebo is on Kyushu, the southernmost main island of Japan. In early 1946 it was one of the primary American naval bases for occupation duty and the staging point for operations into China. The NHHC record said LST-728 saw service in China until early March 1946, and this document puts him right in that pipeline.

It’s worth noting that Cora died in 1949, just three years after Munny came home. She lived long enough to see both sons survive the war. The 1946 homecoming images in the garden shown in the movies below weren’t just Munny returning from the Pacific. It showed the family that Cora held together, reunited on North 4th Street. Grand Bob at home because she insisted. Munny back because he survived. My father Bob in his sailor suit.

Uncle Munny lived to 63. His wife Elizabeth Robinhold Burkey (1916-2011) lived to 94. She was Wellesley Class of ’38 (my Gran Chris was Class of ’36). They lived at 300 North 4th Street, Hamburg, Pennsylvania.

Uncle Munny’s tombstone, Saint John’s Cemetery, Hamburg, Pennsylvania.

300 North 4th Street, Hamburg, Pennsylvania; Source: Google Maps.

Supplemental
Home Movies, with descriptions in the captions.

This entire reel was probably taken 1935-37. Gran Chris (1913-2011) and Grand Bob (1913-1999) swimming with her brother Walter Miller Diener Sr. (1902-1989) and wife Ruth Virginia Hiltebeitel (1909-1965). Switches to color at the same place (Pine Forge/Grove, Schuylkill County?). Then skiing behind what looks like the Lenhart Farm in Lenhartsville (right off of the north side of what now is Interstate 78). Some kid in a flying cap. Color footage of someone else’s wedding, with Blue Mountains in background, so must be Hamburg. Then building a duck blind. Then color artistic wheat field shots, clearly northern Berks County, with old-fashioned haystacks. More footage taken of the foothills below The Pinnacle, through which I-78 now runs. Note the Revolutionary War-style split-rail fences. Out-of-focus foliage, then back to black and white of the North fourth Street house, and some kids on tricycles. Then Grand Bob with their terrier. Then the start of their wedding footage from 4 September 1937; lots of people standing around lines. Gran Chris’s father Irwin Albert Diener (1867-1936) died the year before, but her mother Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) as well as Grand Bob’s Father R.P. Miller (1882-1954) and mother Cora Sue Lenhart (1878-1949) are in frame.

Here’s a color home movie from the early ‘40s

First, Kodachrome backyard blossom shots, North 4th Street, Hamburg, PA. Then, I believe great-grandfather R.P. Miller (1882-1954) himself and unidentified wearing white gloves. Then Grand Bob and Gran Chris walking in the garden. Uncle Munny (Edmund Solomon Lenhart Miller)’s daughter Lynda Miller (1940-) in red and white shirt with Gran Chris. Then great-grandmother Cora Sue Lenhart Miller (1878-1949) in the blue polka-dot dress, R.P. Miller, Chris & Bob. Then Dad (1940-) with garden sprinkler. Then Dad and Aunt Cynthia (1943-) on the pedal car that’s still up in the rafters in the barn. That sailor suit is also still somewhere back home. Then grandmother shows up with a baby, so perhaps that’s Aunt Gretchen (1944-), which would back-date this to 1943-44. Then there’s Uncle Munny in WWII naval uniform ... he would’ve been in his early 30s after returning from the Pacific Theatre of WWII. Then native American dress-up.

Appendix
Brobst Mill Brobst Mill is a historic grist mill located in Albany Township, Berks County, Pennsylvania. It was built about 1780, and is a 2 1/2-story, stone and log mill building. Also on the property is the wheel pit area of the raceway. It was built as part of a larger industrial complex known as Union Iron Works. The mill ceased operation in the 1960s.

BROBST Family History by BROBST/Probst Family History and Genealogy

Christophel was the father of the first early German immigrants who came to America. He was a master potter (”Meister Topfer”), as were his father-in-law and several of his sons. Christophel and his wife Eva Christina (nee Hoffman) Probst raised ten children between 1690-1712: Johannes (1690), Philipp Jacob (1692), Zacharias (1695), Maria Catharina (1697), Anna Maria Margaretha (1699), Johann Michael (1701), Elisabeth Margaretha (1703), Johann Christopherus (1706), Eva Christina (1707), and Maria Sarah (1711), all born in Minfeld (Kandel)

Philipp Jacob, Catharine (C’erine), their three sons, (Jean) Michael (1721), (Jean) Valentine (1724) (who was nicknamed “Felder”), and (Jean) Martin (1726), apparently were among the first ones, well documented, to bring the “Probst” name to America. They survived the journey even though the children were young: (Jean) Michael was 11, Valentine was 8, Martin was 6. Anne Marie, who was only 1, appears to have died shortly before the voyage, although there is some remote possibility that she died at sea.

The region where the Brobsts settled was first called Summer Dahl (”Dahl” means “valley”), but later became and is still known as “Kistler Valley”. Kistler Valley (in German, “Küstler” means “chest maker”) lies between Kempton (in Berks County) and Lynnville (in Northampton County); the Kistler Creek runs through the valley and drains into Maiden Creek near Kempton. Kistler Valley has kept its name from 1735 to the present time — every farm for a stretch of about three miles having been owned and occupied by a Kistler or Kistler descendant and being handed down from father to son from generation to generation. In 1812, that area of Northampton County became part of Lynn Township, Lehigh County, Pennsylvania.

Why they chose to travel to Berks County is not known. There were other Germans throughout that area. It may have been as simple as that their homestead land was selected for them by others. It is noted that Philipp Jacob received a warrant on Aug 1 1934 for 200 acres of land in Albany Township; that warrant was only 22 months after their arrival, a most usually short period of time, so he may have already made arrangements for that warrant while still in Philadelphia. Philipp Jacob and his immediate family settled initially in what was soon to be known as Fetherolffsville, in northeastern Albany Township, Berks County, very near the western edge of Lynn Township, Northampton (now Lehigh) County. They built a log cabin near Kistler Creek in northeastern Albany Township, just a mile north of the Jerusalem (Red) Church in Wessnerville (now called Stony Run). Johann Michael Probst took his land in Weisenberg Township, Lehigh County, just a few miles southeast of Philipp Jacob’s land. A 1792 map of Lehigh County shows the location of both farms, under the name of “Probts”.

Not having mills, they were compelled to take their grain to Oley to be milled, a distance of twenty some miles. Their only market was Philadelphia. Everything they wanted to buy and sell had to be hauled to that city over the most primitive roads. It took five days to make the trip. They usually went in parties of fifteen to twenty for protection. They took a week’s supply of food and horse feed with them, and slept in the barrooms of hotels, lying on the floor around the stove. Philipp Jacob and his sons built their own grist mill and saw mill across the road from their farmhouse, and began to acquire more land south of the Schochary Ridge which lay to the north of the homesite. By 1759, Philipp Jacob’s three sons were three of the four wealthiest landholders in Albany Township. Alas, they were not to enjoy their prosperity long, for all three of them died quite young; Michael at 50, Valentine at 55, and Martin at 40. Philipp Jacob himself lived only to the age of 56.

The original Philipp Jacob Probst log house was replaced in the late 1730s with a stone mansion. Actually, it was not extraordinarily large by today’s standards, but in 1738 it was very large for that part of Pennsylvania. (Jean) Valentine operated the “Brobst Tavern” and inn in the basement of the home until the late 1770s; the tavern fireplace is still in place. During the French and Indian War, the Fort Henry militia stayed overnight in the Brobst house.

Note: The original stone house still stands; a stone in the foundation is marked “1737”. It has been modified and expanded in recent years. On an 1876 map of Albany Township, the owner was shown as Nathan Trexler, with the grist mill still operating across the road, although family history claims that the house remained in the hands of Brobst descendants until around 1900.

Ox Roasts. In a Wall Street Journal article on roasting whole steer I stumbled across in May 2011, there was a mention of an ox roast in Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania .

“A big roadblock to cattle grilling is that neither the equipment nor a local knowledge base are readily available. Each U.S. group had to engineer and build its own grill. There wasn’t always such a vacuum: A newspaper report from 1878 tells of a political gathering in Shoemakersville, Pa., where the public was served a whole roasted ox. It describes how the event descended into a stampede as crowds rushed the ox meat. Vestiges of this tradition can be observed in community “Ox Roasts,” though most feature cuts of butchered beef rather than whole oxen.”

The most amazing thing about the Internet in the 21st century is that the original 1878 newspaper accounts were just a quick Google News Archives search away. a bit of Google News Archives searching yielded a 100-year anniversary mention of the “Shoemakersville Ox Roast” that reads exactly like an Onion headline (Shoemakersville ox roast well attended).

First the Republican ox roast announced on 19 Oct 1878 and re-capped the next day .

“Mr. Ebbert is the same person who had charge of roasting the Democratic buffaloes in this city some time ago”. Well, p. 72 of this 1909 History and Biographical Annals of Berks County Pennsylvania discusses the Democratic ox (and buffalo!) roasts of Oct.-Nov 1876 during the campaign of Democrat Samuel J. Tilden( 1840-1886) (for whom Tilden Township next to Hamburg is named ... he lost to Republican Rutherford B. Hayes (1822-1893). It also mentions Nov 1884 ox roasts and parades celebrating the election of Grover Cleveland (1837-1908). More background on p. 71: All this ox roasting was started by my 1st cousin 7x removed Joseph Hiester (1752-1832) in 1820, which seems to have kicked off the tradition. Big George would’ve been in his early 20s, so probably wasn’t an organizer, but was doubtless an enthusiastic participant! A retrospective article from 15 Dec 1878 also saying, Onion-style, “I heard quite a talk about the Shoemakersville ox roast to-day [sic]” . The article even mentions “the German vote”.

Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania
I found this extensive history “The Shoemaker Family of Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania, 1682-1909” in the Internet Archive. I include it because of the portrait of Revolutionary life it paints, as well as the amazing fact that Charles Shoemaker Sr. (1735-1820) discovered anthracite coal, but literally couldn’t give it away!

“Henry and Carl (Charles, Sr.), sons of Jacob Shoemaker Jr., moved from Germantown, Cheltenham Parish or Township to Shoemakersville, then a dense forest, almost an unbroken wilderness, circa 1765, where Henry built the first stone house in 1768. He afterward sold it to his brother, Charles Sr., who occupied it until death. In the living room of the old house, still in good condition, are painted these words:

“Gott segne dieses House
Und alles was do geht ein und ons;
Gott allein die Ehr.”

These lines were covered over with whitewash for many years, until finally in scraping off the lime they were brought to light again. A marble tablet is built into the gable end of the house, upon which is inscribed, “H. & C. S. 1768.”

Charles Shoemaker, Sr., was born in Germantown in 1735, and died in Shoemakersville in April, 1820. He married Maria Kepner, daughter of Benedict Kepner, a miller of Bern Township (now Bern Station), owner of a grist mill, tannery, 150 acres of land, two horses, five head of cattle and four sheep.

The mill came into the possession of the Fisher family in 1839, and was purchased from a Peter Bright, who sold it because he wanted to get nearer to the Union Canal, and for that reason bought a property near Bernville. A few years later the Schuylkill Canal and the Philadelphia & Reading Railroad were built, both passing within a quarter of a mile away from the mill. Several years ago the whole exterior of the mill was given a coating of cement to preserve the walls, which were apparently too weak to carry the strain that would come upon them from the heavy rolls about to be installed. For three generations this mill has been owned by the Fisher family and has been in continuous operation. The builder built well, as the years have made little impression upon the old mill, which in its earlier days sheltered the Kepner family, dwelling rooms occupying one end of the structure, the usual custom then among mill owners. It also served as a refuge from Indian attacks and was known as “Kepner’s Fort.” The mill is now known as the “Monarch Roller Mills,” Fisher & Co., proprietors.

After the death of Charles Shoemaker, Sr., his wife, Maria, moved to her daughter Sophia, married to Jacob Huey, of “Weidenshollen,” a beautiful home east of Leesport. This home, owned later by Adam Huey Gernant, is now the property of John Unger, father-in-law of Rev. Edwin Gernant, of Towanda, Pa.

Henry and Carl Shoemaker frequently went to Europe, and on one of these trips brought with them a pipe organ for the stone mansion at Shoemakersville. The Shoemaker family were farmers, tanners, merchants and statesmen. During Revolutionary days the men were away from home attending to affairs relating to their country — the women in their absence nobly taking their places. A tannery was owned and operated by the brothers, Henry and Carl, Sr., situated on the east bank.

The State Assembly, in December, 1777, appointed and empowered him to solicit and take subscriptions for the Continental Loan. This service required a large measure of ability to fulfill the duties required. He was successful in obtaining quite a number of subscriptions from various citizens of Berks County to carry on the war with England. At the close of the Revolutionary War much loss was suffered by farmers and merchants from non-redemption of the loans they had made to their country in its extremity; these good people showed their patriotism in deeds instead of words.

Charles Shoemaker, Sr., acted as one of the Commissioners who assembled at New Haven, Connecticut, in November, 1777, to regulate the price of commodities in the Colonies. He represented the County in the General Assembly for twelve years — 1792 to 1801 and in 1810 and 1812 — and was in the Senate for four years — 1813 to 1817. He died March 27, 1820, after living in retirement for several years, aged 78 years, 2 months and 29 days.

“Ruhet heir im Kuhlen Shoze der Erden.”

Charles Shoemaker, Jr., was born at Shoemakersville June 19, 1779. He married Elizabeth Kershner, of Philadelphia Township (now Perry Township), November 22, 1801. They commenced housekeeping in the large log inn which he had built the previous year. In this inn all of their children were born except the two youngest, who were born in their new home, built in 1820, across the street from the inn. The inn was torn down in 1880 and the Metropolitan Hotel erected on the site.

From October, 1791, to 1800, Charles Shoemaker, Jr., served as Representative from Berks County, and again in 1809 and 1811. He was elected Senator in 1812. He served in the War of 1812 as Quarter Master of the Brigade of Pennsylvania Troops commanded by Brigadier-General John Adams. He died November 8, 1822, while serving as Associate Judge of Berks County.

The first hotel in Shoemakersville, a large log house, was built by Charles Shoemaker, Jr., and conducted by him for many years. The famous Coleman Line Stage Coach, operating stage lines from Philadelphia to Womelsdorf, Lebanon, Harrisburg, Lancaster, Allentown, Easton, Sunbury and other towns, in 1828 established a daily stage from Pottsville via Reading to Philadelphia and made Shoemakersville one of their stopping places.

Charles Shoemaker, Jr., later built a brick house opposite the inn, into which he moved with his family and where he died. His widow left Shoemakersville with her nine children and moved to her old home, then occupied by her brother, John Kershner, and family. Years later when her youngest daughter, Sophia, was married to Charles Huey Mohr, of Mohrsville, she went to live with her at Mohrsville, where she died May 24, 1849. She was buried at Zion’s Church by the side of her husband and among his people.

In 1812, Colonel George Shoemaker discovered coal in Schuylkill County and hauled twelve wagon loads of the fuel to Philadelphia, where he sought a market for it. He sold two loads, but the people not knowing how to use this newly discovered fuel declined to buy any more and the other ten wagon loads had to be given away.

The first house of the settler was built of logs, the chinks daubed with clay, and the roof thatched with long grass. In the later and better class of dwellings the logs were hewn square so as to need no chinking, the windows consisted of two small lead frames, set with a few tiny diamond-shaped panes of glass (or sometimes oiled paper) and hinged so as to open outward against the house, the doors were of oak plank and were securely fastened at night by heavy wooden cross-bars. In the center of the house rose a stone or brick chimney, about twelve feet square at the base, affording a fireplace large enough for seats to be placed at the side. To “lay the fire” was no small matter: for the back a huge “back log,” perhaps four feet long, was rolled in; then on the andirons was placed a “front log”; between these were piled enormous quantities of small wood.

The kitchen and the “best room” were the chief apartments. In the kitchen the center of attraction was the great fireplace, with its swinging crane and pot-hooks to hold the iron pots for cooking. A brick oven was built beside the chimney. This was heated by a fire of fine “kindlings,” then swept clean, and the bread or beans set in to bake. Matches had not been invented, and the fire was carefully kept overnight in the ashes. If it unfortunately “went out” it was relighted by sparks from the flint and steel, or by live coals brought from a neighbor’s hearth. The room was rarely seven feet high, and from the bare joists overhead hung bunches of herbs, seed corn, and long strings of drying apples. The furniture was plain: a tall wooden clock; a high-backed wooden settle; a dresser set out with the cherished pewter dishes; a spinning wheel, and perhaps a loom for weaving.

The “best room” was used only on state occasions. The andirons were of brass that shone like gold. On the mantel shelf stood the high brass candlesticks and the accompanying tray and snuffers. Here, too, was the library, containing a few well read books — for books were scarce and costly, and reading was a serious matter, taken up for improvement and not for pastime. Among those few books were sure to be found the family Bible, Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” Young’s “Night Thoughts,” Watt’s “Improvement of the Mind,” Fox’s “Book of Martyrs,” Addison’s “Spectator,” and Milton’s “Paradise Lost.”

The front door was decorated with a huge brass knocker. The Mistress spun, wove, and stored her household linens in crowded chests, and scrubbed and scoured her floor and wood work. The happy burghers breakfasted at dawn, dined at eleven, and retired at sunset. On dark evenings, as a guide for belated wanderers, lighted candles were placed in the front windows.

In Colonial times nearly all kinds of industry were carried on in ways very different from those of to-day. There was very little machinery in the country, and many tools that are now common were unknown; therefore it took much more labor to produce a bushel of wheat, or a pair of shoes, or a pound of nails. The people also lacked very many things necessary to our comfort and convenience to-day, either because such articles had not yet been invented, or because they cost too much. In farming, the chief occupation of the country, the colonists had the advantage of a fertile soil: land was plentiful and cheap, and when one field was worn out it was abandoned for a new one. The farming implements were few and clumsy compared with those used by farmers to-day. Grain was sown by hand, reaped with sickles, and threshed with flails. Grass was cut with scythes, and the hay gathered up with hand rakes.

Calfskin shoes, up to the time of the Revolution, were the exclusive property of the gentry; farmers, mechanics, and workingmen generally were clothed in red or green baize jackets, leather or striped ticking breeches, and heavy cowhide shoes — all home made. The women wore linsey-woolsey. Many sheep were raised for their wool. Beside wool, practically the only fibers produced were flax, hemp and silk.

Great forests supplied plenty of fuel, and enough lumber was sawed for the needs of the colonies. Much wood was burned merely for the ashes, from which were made potash and pearlash. Among the chief colonial manufactures were flour, leather and leather goods, hats, bricks, and coarse cloths and clothing, made mostly in the household.

In household manufacturing the women played a very important part: beside spinning and weaving the flax and wool, they dyed and knit, made soap and candles, and did many other things that girls nowadays never learn to do. Mrs. Washington, it is said, kept sixteen spinning wheels running. The soldiers of the Revolution were clad mainly in homespun.

On one occasion forty or fifty young ladies, who called themselves “Daughters of Liberty,” brought their spinning wheels to the house of Rev. Mr. Morehead, in Boston, and during the day spun 232 skeins of yarn, which they presented to their pastor. Within eighteen months by one family in Newport, 487 yards of cloth and 86 pairs of stockings had been spun and knit. The ladies in their tea drinking used instead of imported tea the dried leaves of the raspberry.

Ministers’ salaries were generally paid in produce — wheat, corn, beans, bacon, wood, etc. On one occasion 150 beaver skins were received. A farm of 100 acres was set apart by law for each clergyman, and also a portion of the “best and first gathered corn.”

The usual mode of travel was on foot or horse-back; the trip from New York to Philadelphia occupied three days if the wind was fair. Until after the Revolution, the mails were carried by postriders on horseback. Even a bridegroom, were he rich or poor, who sought a wife in a distant inland town, rode there on horseback and brought his bride home on a pillion behind him. There were few wheeled vehicles until near the end of the colonial period, and even these few went out of use during the Revolution.

In all of the Colonies there were many white indentured servants — persons who were bound to service for some fixed period of time, during which they were little better than slaves. There were also negro slaves in every Colony, those in the North being chiefly house servants.”

Another email group of which I’m a member (thanks to an introduction through Coburn Ventures) is hosted by Dr. Stephen Crandall, a delightfully original thinker and former AT&T Bell Labs physicist who, in his 70s, recently completed a masters in cultural anthropology at Princeton just for fun. We recently spoke about a recent piece I wrote on the 1982 Western Electric Engineering Fair :

He also just recommended the book quoting Cory’s review:

“”Inventing the Renaissance” isn’t a work of history, it’s a work of “historiography” - the study of how histories get written and rewritten. Palmer’s point here isn’t to make us merely understand the Renaissance - she wants us to understand how the *idea* of a Renaissance, a rebirth out of a “dark age” into a “golden age” - has been used, abused, created and demolished, for centuries and centuries, *including* during the centuries when the Renaissance was actually underway.

You could not ask for a better account of why there is not, and can never be, a single, canonical “history” of an era or a moment. There will *always* be multiple histories, overlapping each other, warring with one another, supplanting each other, or being revived as “lost” histories that reveal a truth that “they” have buried.

This is *such* an ambitious book, and the ambition pays off in so many ways. Take the book’s structure: there’s a long middle section in which Palmer describes how more than a dozen figures from the Renaissance experienced their era, with many overlapping events and timelines. Palmer’s sensitive, beautifully researched and written accounts of the lives of these figures - highborn and lowly, sinister and virtuous - highlights the contradictions of this centuries-long “moment” we call “the Renaissance” and shows us how those contradictions can’t ever be resolved, only acknowledged and understood.”

I’ve long been keenly interested in Renaissance literature:

I bought the Palmer book on Kindle and took some time to make my way through it. I have to admit it’s not a quick read, and one feels the urge to create a spreadsheet to keep it all straight:

That said, quite a few passages jumped out at me:

“[T]here’s a well-kept secret about so-called golden ages: a time that left us golden treasures was not necessarily a golden time to be alive.”

“Plague periodically depopulated Europe’s cities by a third or half, but trade and employment quickly refilled Italy’s capitals, so that even when Naples was emptied by plague in 1495 it swelled back to 125,000—Europe’s second largest city—within twenty years.”

“[H]istorians fear the present decades may become a dark age, if digital archiving goes badly and paper copies of sources aren’t kept, since when proprietary software grows defunct it takes digital files with it, so 200 years from now there could be a major blank in the historical record from the years 1990–2090.”

“(Reminder, Norse = the people, Viking = a profession/activity, i.e. raiding places; we call them Vikings when they’re sacking and looting, but when we mean the whole population who raided but also farmed, carved, wove, wrote poems, and raised babies, we say the Norse).”

“Once upon a time, at a conference in the History Lab, I was tired. Conferences are long, and often by day three I just can’t parse technical exegesis of Ficino’s Neoplatonic hypostatic theurgic soul projection anymore. (I love my work, but it’s a nerdy-within-nerdland topic; once I ducked out to the water fountain and heard two other historians passing by: “What’s in there?” “Oh, that’s the Ficino room; it’s weird in there.”)”

“It turns out history isn’t written by the winners; history is written by the people who write histories.”

“[Brief rant: Seriously, I once gave an entire conference paper on the opening sentence of Pomponio Leto’s life of Lucretius and how many ridiculous unnecessary rare grammatical forms he uses just to make it hard to understand! It includes three different obscure participial constructions for no reason, and quotes Varro deceptively out of context, making a quote seem to be about taxonomies of knowledge that’s actually about poultry farming! Poultry farming!!! Just to trick you into thinking Leto knows a source you don’t!35 I collect Leto’s cruelest sentences to send to Latin teacher friends who use them to punish classroom troublemakers, and boy does it work! End rant.] This practice is also what birthed the stock comedy character of the fatuous Latin pedant, as seen in Commedia dell’Arte and Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost, proof that even the general theater public was familiar enough with such Latin duels to laugh at a clown saying to a scholar’s page, “I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word; thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus.” (V.i).”

N.b. I’m surprised she didn’t mention Monty Python

“Once, when I was in the Borgia Apartments in the Vatican, admiring the newly restored golden Borgia bulls which decorate the ceiling, I saw a Korean tour group rushing through, one of whom paused to ask the guide, “What’s this room?” The guide, flustered and clearly hurried, froze a moment, then answered, “These are the rooms of Alexander VI, he was a very, very, very, very, very, very, very bad pope.” Not bad for ten seconds.”

“We’ve found Italy full of Greeks, Romans, Frenchmen, Spaniards, and Burgundians, while Florentine merchants, craftsmen, and exiles are working as far afield as London, Bruges, and Székesfehérvár, plus only 20 percent of the population of Rome are Romans, and Petrarch, who wrote so powerfully of Florence, spent less time in the city than I have.”

“When we believed travel was rare, separate Renaissances made sense, and we’re still fixing that mistake. It’s all connected, but we have a lot to do, which is why it took so long for us to come to our current theory about the Greenland’s Norse settlers: that they too were victims of the Black Death. Really? They got the plague? No. Yersinia pestis didn’t make it it to Greenland, but the backbone of their economy was the export of luxury walrus ivory, and walrus hide (used to make water-resistant rope), the only goods that kept the mainland’s boats coming. In the decades after the Black Death, Europe’s luxury market went haywire and the bottom fell out of the rchwalrus trade (think how COVID made the board game industry boom but formalwear bust), so the ships stopped coming. The 1348 plague killed Petrarch’s friends, pool ball struck pool ball, and by the 1430s the Greenland settlement could no longer endure such isolation, so everyone who could leave emigrated, and the rest faded away.63 Even more recent studies have found signs that the Norse may have also overhunted walrus, exhausting the resource which had meant ships and import goods for Greenland, and for the rest of Europe luxurious ivory statuettes, fans, combs, swords, backgammon sets, and instruments as far away as Constantinople. We had assumed the cause of the settlement’s end must be local—climate, erosion, farming practices—until we realized how connected everything was.”

One of the most eye-opening discoveries of my genealogy research has been how the Atlantic ocean was much more of a two-way street than America’s national mythology likes to admit:

“This quarrel was not with a scholar, but with Lorenzo’s Roman wife, Clarice Orsini de Medici. She, sources say, did not like her children reading mainly Greek and Latin pagans, pushing for more religious education. Planning for her three-year-old Giovanni (whose childhood nickname “Leo” reminds us that he will someday be Pope Leo X), Clarice wanted the boy to read the Psalms in Latin (in bad medieval Latin in Poliziano’s opinion) rather than reading Ovid as Poliziano planned. This is historically important because Leo will be pope when Luther releases the Ninety-Five Theses, so many Reformation histories will cast him as the villain. The most recent English-language biography of Pope Leo X, written in 1908, states as fact that if Clarice had won the argument and three-year-old Leo had read the Psalms instead of Ovid, the Reformation wouldn’t have happened.”

“If Michelangelo had a bumper sticker, it would read: I’d Rather Be Sculpting. ... Condivi says that, back in 1489, Michelangelo (then thirteen or fourteen) was there carving a stone copy of an ancient satyr’s head, embellishing the original closed-mouthed design by sculpting an open mouth full of teeth. Lorenzo de Medici, strolling by, teased the boy for giving an old, wrinkled satyr a mouth full of perfect, youthful teeth; Michelangelo quickly carved one of the teeth away, and this so impressed Lorenzo that he invited Michelangelo to join his household.”

“That Michelangelo carved his name prominently on the Virgin’s girdle [of the Pietà] was unusual (some said arrogant) in a period when few sculptures were signed, though even more unusual was the contract for the commission, in which Michelangelo promised that the work would be the best sculpture ever seen in Rome—the client did not demand his money back.”

“It was in January 1504, early in Julius’s reign, as the city waited to learn just how warlike this second Battle Pope would prove, that Michelangelo’s innovative David was unveiled, depicting the young king, not in the tranquility of victory with Goliath’s severed head at his feet, but before the battle, his tense expression inviting the viewer to imagine his thoughts as he planned for the crisis to come. The image resonated with the city, and all agreed it was too excellent to put way up on the cathedral largely out of sight. One of the most epic committees in Earth history—including Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Perugino, Filipino Lippi, Ghirlandaio’s surviving brother Davide, and Giovanni Cellini (father of the implausibly interesting Benvenuto Cellini)—was tasked with choosing a fitting spot for the statue. They chose the most prominent place possible: right in front of the gates of the Palazzo Vecchio, as a permanent avatar of Florence.”

“Let’s pause for a few minutes in the Sistine Chapel of our minds’ eyes, since it’s impossible to pause in the real one with its ceaseless stream of tour groups (don’t get me started on how doomed you are if what you’re there to study is the Sistine Chapel floor).”

​​Ha! When I was a kid, an item called The “Sistine Chapel Floor” appeared in the September 1972 issue of National Lampoon magazine. Created by artist Charles White III and writer Michael O’Donoghue, the gag promised readers an exclusive look at the iconic Michelangelo masterpiece, with the punchline being that it pictured only the unadorned, mundane chapel tiles, making fun of tourists and art lovers who wait in long lines only to crane their necks at the ceiling.

“[F]ew in 1517 would have bet money that, in 500 years, Raphael and Michelangelo would be household names and master lute-player Gian Maria Giudeo an obscure footnote. Even fewer would have put their money on a little German monk called Martin Luther, whose Ninety-Five Theses denouncing Church corruption read a lot like Savonarola.”

“It was Duke Cosimo who commissioned Cellini’s bronze Perseus holding the severed head of Medusa, which stands catty-corner to Michelangelo’s David in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. The Perseus is so cunningly positioned, just under the eaves, that when it rains (and the wind is right) the naked hero remains dry, while the water drips like blood from the gore that streams from Medusa’s head, from the neck of the headless body at the hero’s feet, and from his sword.”

“I don’t want you to memorize these dates. In fact, as a history professor, I hereby give you official permission to never memorize another date ever! You can just look them up! If you learn some dates, remember 1348 Black Death, 1450 printing press, and 1517 Reformation, plus optionally 1492, for Europe’s contact with the Americas, Lorenzo’s death, and Borgia’s election. The point is not the dates, it’s to get a sense of lived time, how many years it took for Petrarch’s friends to assemble their libraries, and get Michelangelo’s Delphic sibyl on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. ... Today the long Renaissance is one imagination slot, Bruni’s history shelved next to Machiavelli’s, Giottos hung next to Titians, but when we zoom in each generation’s experience was as different as Neil Armstrong’s from Napoleon’s.”

“Fubini connects this with secularization, pointing out that an important foundation for people to stop thinking mostly about Heaven is to start thinking about Earth, even if they’re still doing so piously. We’ll return to secularization shortly, but for now Fubini’s observation is a precious reminder that Machiavelli’s classics-loving peers and predecessors didn’t simply as for now Fubini’s observation is a precious reminder that Machiavelli’s classics-loving peers and predecessors didn’t simply assemble the libraries which let him realize that the project wasn’t working, they did a lot of innovation which got him most of the way there. Putting that first footprint on the Moon makes one famous forever, but it genuinely was a small step for a man from the Apollo Lunar Module to the lunar surface—just so, all those book-hunters, and library-builders, and philologists assembled and launched the lunar lander which got Nick to the spot where he could take his great, small step.”

“Like many turning-point thinkers, Machiavelli’s most important contributions are invisible to us today, because we don’t realize they weren’t always there. When we think of Freud, we think first of the parts we find absurd, the sex obsessions and the Oedipus complex, forgetting that Freud’s major contribution was to argue that the human being is not a 100 percent rational calculating machine, that we can have things like trauma, irrational behavior, unconscious bias, and that mental illness can be treated in better ways than with electroshock or hysterectomies—we don’t doubt any of that today, so when we read Freud it’s hard to realize it was new.”

This made me think of a recent comment I made on a Substack piece on Freud’s nephew Edward Bernays, who also had a disproportionate impact on the modern world:

Paper Connections

Propaganda. The Man Who Manipulated the Twentieth Century

A Paper Connections Essay…

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3 months ago · 93 likes · 37 comments · Paper Connections

My comment was: “Bernays was an avid skier. A few mementos are in the Skiing Museum in St. Anton, which is really picturesque, and only steps away from the main ski lift. My diary post from 2023:

“Edward Bernays was Austrian, but moved to the US to eventually pioneer public relations, and make it okay for women to smoke cigarettes, everyone to eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, and start using Dixie Cups, amongst other controversial things . He was also Sigmund Freud’s nephew (note he’s included on this collage) and lived to 103, dying in 1995 . He appeared on the David Letterman Show in 1985:

Here’s a link to the collage:

“Bernays, when are you coming back?”

“As the Ada Palmer who started studying the Renaissance because she realized the First World War sparked Freud’s death instinct, I love the Machiavelli I meet in his letters, the human, erring, desperate Machiavelli. It’s so common for history to seem like a sequence of marble busts on pedestals who handed us great works, and, I love exploding that illusion with personal letters (Machiavelli’s, Petrarch’s, Voltaire’s, Cicero’s) that instead reveal people who messed up, who ran out of money, who ran out of clean shirts, who worried about their friends, who lost their tempers, who felt lonely, who failed at things, who whined, and who got persistent letters from their mothers worrying they weren’t eating enough capers and fennel (i.e. vitamins). Even Machiavelli ran out of clean shirts, and got motherly and wifely letters about eating his vegetables, and there’s a great letter from Lorenzo (when he’s already a head of state!) where he writes home to Mom that he forgot his favorite purple bathrobe.”

“Garin’s well-researched and historical arguments that Renaissance humanism is philosophy gained sudden strength in 1946 when Jean-Paul Sartre published an address he had given the previous year at the Club Maintenant in Paris called Existentialism is a Humanism (take that, Kristeller!). It then suffered a setback later that same year when Heidegger published his response, No It Isn’t, Sartre, Get Stuffed, or as it’s officially titled Heidegger’s Letter on Humanism. This high-profile and exciting debate muddied the waters, so interpretations based in actual period sources was further drowned under mid-twentieth-century what’s-hot-today concerns.”

“Were there atheists in the Renaissance? In Machiavelli’s day? Yes, definitely, absolutely, 100 percent, no doubt, we found them, we have proof. Great! How many? Two. Two is not very many. Well, there were likely more than two, probably lots more, but when you ask for 100 percent certain proof that’s actually very difficult.40 Is one of the two Machiavelli? No, actually. For him we don’t have proof. Machiavelli was definitely a radical who mocked the established Church, but we can’t prove atheism, and the fact that it’s so hard to prove is worth zooming in on.”

“Machiavelli feels modern. He feels like us. He advocates evaluating right and wrong based on secular criteria, as if there were no God watching, compatible with separation of Church and state. Having spotted someone who thinks about history as we do, about ethics as we do, about law as we do, about the consequences of our actions as we do, he feels ahead of his time (dangerous words).”

“Johannes Gutenberg creates a brilliant device which can produce 300 copies of a book for the cost of one manuscript (and will in the year 2000 make him Time Magazine’s Man of the Millennium)! He prints the most high-demand books he can think of: a grammar textbook and a bible. There are maybe twenty school-bound youths in his landlocked German village who actually need a grammar textbook, and only clergy are legally allowed to read Scripture, so at most three people want to spend thousands of dollars on a bible right now. Congratulations, Mr Gutenberg, you have 280 unsold grammar textbooks and 297 unsold bibles, what are you going to do next? The answer was go bankrupt, which he did. His creditors took his shop, tried to go into printing, they went bankrupt. Apprentices who learned the method from him tried printing Cicero and Seneca, but they went bankrupt too; there were 300 people in Europe who wanted Cicero at that moment, but they were scattered over 80 towns. In a world of artisanal production, with few mass-produced commodities beyond coins and still newfangled woodblock-printed playing cards, this costly mass-produced commodity did not have a way to reach the rich but far-flung buyers who were building libraries.3 Ficino could afford to print his Plato because Lorenzo de Medici was happy to pay for printing 300 copies of a work which so glorified his family and city, but printers living on book sales required distribution methods.”

Some believe that Johannes Gutenberg’s printing press was inspired by the giant wine presses at Kloster Eberbach, where I attended a special event classic car show last year:

Stephen Fry comments on that in this video, which was taken at the Kloster:

“The Gentleman’s Magazine, the first publication to call itself a magazine (founded 1731), collected news and articles about all kinds of things, and amid reports of the first hot air balloon flight, and which works of Voltaire were newly banned, it published letter columns, in which curious amateurs did backyard science, writing to the editor with their findings on questions like whether spiders shoot their threads out with force like a dart or merely extrude them without momentum like a dough.27 There is a joy in reading their precise descriptions of the actions of household spiders (it proceeded a thumb’s width along the pencil, then descended like a pendulum), humble readers doing with their pencils, books, and twigs what court scientists did with shiny brass machines.”

I share her delight in reading old magazines and newspapers:

“The slowness of social progress is painful, I think especially because it’s the aspect of progress that seemed it would come fastest. During that first century, when Bacon’s followers were waiting for their medical discoveries to actually save lives, social progress was already working wonders. The Enlightenment did extend the franchise, end torture in most of Europe, it had this heady feeling of victory and momentum.2 It seemed like social progress was already half-way done before tech got started. But Charles Babbage kicked off programmable computing in 1833 and now my pocket contains 100x the computing power needed to get Apollo XI to the Moon, so why, if Olympe de Gouges wrote the Declaration of the Rights of Woman and the Citizen in 1791, do we still not have equal pay? Because society is a very complicated fish tank.”

Coincidentally, as I was reading the section on Machiavelli, I received a Substack notification for this piece by Adam Tooze today:

Chartbook

Chartbook 452 Europe's Machiavellian moment?

In the current moment, Europe clearly faces enormous challenges…

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2 months ago · 42 likes · 9 comments · Adam Tooze

“Van Middelaar’s history of the EU is a Bildungsroman through which Europe moves from seeking to subordinate conflicting national interests within a gigantic rule-making organization, under a geopolitical umbrella provided by the United States, to Europe emerging in its own right as a concerted body of states, capable of defining their common borders, identity and interests on the stage of history. Like the renaissance polities that Machiavelli was advising, Europe is finally coming to terms with a secularized world of power, violence and historical events. It is worth lingering over this construction. To go forward to the future, the EU goes back to the early modern moment. In finally embracing the challenges of the 21st-century, van Middelaar sees Europe recapitulating the Machievellian enlightenment of the 1500s. Historicity, it turns out, has a frame that is, if not transhistoric, at least millennial in its range.”

“Of course, if you believe that the original vision of the EU embodied a kind of neo-medieval theodicy – at one point in Alarums Middelaar describes the ideologues of the EU as “medieval prophets” – then you could imagine that Europe’s technocrats did indeed experience a secularizing Machiavellian shock when they came face to face with financial doom-loops and the Russian army. But if they were suffering moments of existential panic that is hardly a reason for us to make their trauma into the basis for our own diagnosis of their situation, let alone the reading of our own situation If history seemed in such moments to be nothing more than a series of contingent, unpredictable and irrational events, if history bore a “Russian” visage, or as Donald Kagan insisted, it took the form of the war-god Mars, such imaginings are hardly the hallmark of a deep realism. Rather they are the sign of disorientation, disillusionment and despair. … A phase of depoliticization, a purported end to history, has in turn given rise to a singularly convulsive and ahistorical account of the “return” of both history and politics. Whether as trauma or Schadenfreude it carries with it too much of its own moment of genesis. To arrive at a truly realistic account of this moment and of our present, stripped of the existential histrionics, there is still work to do.”

So all this Renaissance stuff, impenetrable as it can sometimes be, is perhaps more relevant than ever these days.

My paternal grandfather told me he and his friends would climb up from Hamburg, Pennsylvania in 1929 to shoot goshawks for a $5 bounty ($100 in today’s money) each. Five years later, Rosalie Edge came up the same mountain and created the world’s first raptor sanctuary. That mountain — Hawk Mountain, at the top of Berks County — is one of my spiritual homelands, and I grew up with it looming in the background. I’m writing this from Bad Homburg, Germany, at the foot of the Taunus range, which looks exactly like the Blue Mountains, and from which ‘Hamburg’ was almost certainly corrupted. I hiked it, trained on it, skied it, and eventually flew over it in a 1929 biplane, all in the shadow of a landscape where my ancestors first put down roots nearly three centuries ago.

The author and Clarence Luckenbill, our neighboring Pennsylvania Dutch farmer, planting corn using a three-draft-horse seed drill on the lower-upper field at Wolfbrook Farm with the Blue Mountains (which look exactly like the Taunus) in the background, circa 1975. Photo credit: Robert George Lenhart Miller Jr., my father.

As I discuss in “My Father’s Side of the Family”, my namesake paternal direct-line 6th-great-grandfather Johann Joerg “Hunter George” Miller Sr. (1721-1801) was from Feldkirchen, Gönnersdorf in the western Rheinland-Pfalz; he’d arrived in Philadelphia on the ship “Aurora” in 1744 with his wife and two of their five eventual children, settled in Windsor Township, and is buried in the family plot at St. John’s Cemetery in Hamburg. Hunter George is listed by the DAR as performing “Patriotic Service” by paying the Supply Tax, as did his son (Johann Joerg) George Miller Sr. (1754-1815). Note that lots of the Revolutionary War grave flags one encounters are taxpayers to the cause, and not necessarily soldiers per se. Note also the blue Mountains in the background of the thumbnail photo of George’s grave:

By the way, “Hamburg”, Pennsylvania is actually a corruption of “Homburg”, Germany, where I’m writing this today. I personally updated (with supporting reference, see appendix) the Hamburg, Pennsylvania Wikipedia page to reflect it:

“In 1779, Martin Kaercher Jr. received 250 acres (1.0 km2) of land from his father and divided it into building lots, naming the area “Kaercher Stadt”. Hamburg was officially founded in 1787, generally thought to have been named after the “German Hamburg” due to the largely German population of the region. However, Martin Kaerscher Jr.’s father Johann Martin Kaerscher Sr. (1718–1787) emigrated in 1738 from Langenselbold in Hessia (then under Isenburg)[14] which is far from the northern seaport of Hamburg, so it is likely that “Hamburg” is a corruption of Bad Homburg due to the Blue Mountains’ very similar appearance to the Taunus mountain range.”

The Taunus, with Bad Homburg in the center. Source: Wikipedia

I deliberately used the term “looming”, as I wrote a piece describing the British-agitated Indian incursions over the Blue Mountains with which my ancestors had to contend, I included an account of a raid near the foot of Hawk Mountain at Eckville written by my 8th great uncle Jean Valentine Probst (1724-1775):

“The immigrant (Jean) Valentine Probst wrote to his father-in-law, Jacob Levan, about the terrible Indian raid of February 7, 1756, which occurred near the foot of Hawk Mountain at Eckville (where now stands the Bolich Church in Old Rosenthal): “I cannot omit writing about the dreadful circumstances of our Township, Albany. The Indians came yesterday morning, about 8:00 o’clock, to Frederick Reichelderfer’s house [Friedrich Jacob Reichelsfelder (1714-1759) was another 8th great uncle]. As he was feeding his horses, two Indians ran upon him, and followed him into the field 10 or 12 perches [a perch is equal to 5½ yards] behind; but he escaped and ran toward Jacob Gerhart’s house, with a design to fetch arms. When he came nearer Gerhart’s, he heard a lamentable cry `Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus’, which made him run back towards his own house, but before he got quite home, he saw his house and stables in flames; and heard all the cattle bellowing, and thereupon he ran away again. Two of his children were shot, one of them was found dead in his field, the other was found alive (and brought to Hagenbuch’s house) but died three hours after. All his grain and cattle were burnt up. At Jacob Gerhart’s they had killed one man, two women, and six children. Two children slipped under the bed; one of which was burned; the other escaped and ran a mile to get to people. We desire help, or we must leave our homes.””

The Probst family connection runs through the Lynn Township branch: Philipp Jacob Probst (1699-1747) is the common ancestor linking Jean Valentine’s Albany Township line to my own descent through the Brobsts.

The Indian raids on the Blue Mountain frontier were probably what made my ancestors more receptive to military service at the time, especially as the British eventually started employing Iroquois Indians as mercenaries to make further incursions over the Appalachians:

“In 1778, during the Revolutionary War, the Iroquois allied with the English and mounted one final attack against the settlers. They were repelled, however, and this essentially ended the rebellion of the Indians against the Pennsylvania settlers.

There’s even a restaurant between Shartlesville and Hamburg called the Indian Fort Inn where we’d sometimes go for dinner as a family, with a stone outbuilding where settlers would shelter in the event of a raid. I recall going out to it one evening as a child expecting to see Indians, but it was full of empty soda bottle cases. The adjoining house came up for sale years ago, and my wife and I actually took a look at it.

Further east there’s a break in the range where the Maiden Creek cuts through Lenhartsville, which was founded by my paternal 4th-great grandfather Heinrich “Henry” Lenhart (1773-1837) on land owned by his grandfather Johan Peter Lenhart (1708-1774); his father Johannes Jacob Lenhart (1736-1793) was from the Rheinland-Pfalz, and during the Revolutionary War was a Fifer, 2nd (Cpt. Jacob Ladich’s Greenwich Twp.) Co., 1st. (Lt. Col. Samuel Ely’s) Battalion, Berks County Militia, 1780.

The Hawk Mountain Range itself hasn’t changed much. What happens on it has.

Hawk Mountain Sanctuary
Hawk Mountain Sanctuary occupies 2,600 acres on the Kittatinny Ridge in Albany and Windsor townships, straddling the line between Berks and Schuylkill counties. Before it was protected, the North and South Lookouts were infamous killing fields: Gunners gathered each autumn to shoot raptors by the thousands as they funneled south along the ridge. The carnage drew Rosalie Barrow Edge (1877–1962) a Manhattan socialite, suffragette, and militant conservationist, who in 1934 leased the mountain and posted it against hunting, creating the world’s first sanctuary for birds of prey. The Sanctuary now counts more than 18 species of raptors and has logged over 90 years of continuous migration counts, the longest unbroken raptor census on earth.

50-year commemorative poster in the author’s bedroom near Oley, Pennsylvania.

Rosalie Edge came from an Anglo-Dutch Protestant background. Her British father was a wealthy accountant and a cousin of Charles Dickens, and her mother traced her ancestry to the Dutch merchant Kiliaen van Rensselaer. Her husband was also British, and they lived in Asia for a few years before settling in New York. She picked a high-profile fight with the Audubon society, ran the Emergency Conservation Committee (ECC) from 1929 until she died, and campaigned to create Olympic and Kings Canyon National Parks, blocked logging of Yosemite National Park, and influenced founders of The Wilderness Society, The Nature Conservancy, and Environmental Defense Fund. One frequent Hawk Mountain visitor was Rachel Carson (1907-1964), who used data on bird populations collected by its caretakers as evidence in her influential 1962 book “Silent Spring”.

My paternal grandfather Robert George Lenhart “Grand Bob” Miller Sr. (1913-1999), about whom more can be found here , told me he and his friends were 16 in 1929, and would hike up from neighboring Hamburg to shoot predator birds for a $5 Pennsylvania Game Commission bounty each, about $100 today, making him in some small measure part of the carnage Rosalie Edge came to stop five years later. A goshawk raiding a chicken yard could take multiple birds in a single visit, and in 1929 rural Pennsylvania that was a genuine economic threat to farm families for whom every chicken counted. Game birds — pheasant, grouse, quail — were also both commercial and subsistence resources. The term “chicken hawk” wasn’t metaphorical. That said, wildlife must have seemed endless, even a century ago. Rosalie Edge’s radical insight, which put her at odds with the Audubon Society she considered too cozy with Hawk Mountain hunting interests, was that raptors were part of a balanced ecosystem rather than enemies of it. That was a genuinely controversial position in 1929, not an obvious one.

My parents and I have been members of Hawk Mountain Sanctuary for decades, and I’ve always felt we’ve been making amends for all those goshawks Grand Bob and his friends shot.

Panorama shot from the North Lookout looking east over the Kittatinny Ridge. Photo by the author, 2023.

Appalachian Trail, Pulpit Rock, and The Pinnacle
The Appalachian Trail crosses the Blue Mountains just west of Hawk Mountain and follows the ridge eastward to the Pinnacle, a quartzite outcrop at 1,635 feet that commands one of the broadest views in the mid-Atlantic: The Great Valley unrolls to the south, and on a clear day the towers of Reading are visible twenty miles off. The climb from the Hamburg reservoir trailhead gains roughly 800 feet over about three miles. The Pinnacle sits within State Game Lands 106, a 12,000-acre block that stretches along the ridge and makes the area one of the largest contiguous stretches of roadless terrain in southeastern Pennsylvania.

When I was in high school, We used to park at the Hamburg Reservoir and hike or mountain bike up to the Pinnacle . I still own some of Mamie’s ancestral forest land off the Appalachian Trail that I inherited from my Gran Chris. These plots were common as a firewood source amongst people who lived in town:

Pinnacle hikes are still a traditional activity when we’re all back in Berks County, even now that we’re in our 60s.

Pinnacle hike with high school friends, 1982. Hahn Mountain Ski area visible in the background.

CAP Ranger School
I was a member of the US Air Force Auxiliary Civil Air Patrol from 1979-1981. The Civil Air Patrol’s Hawk Mountain Ranger School traces to 1953, when USAF Pararescue instructors found their Pennsylvania Wing (PAWG) search-and-rescue trainees so impressive they called them Rangers. The school moved to Col. Phillip Neuweiler’s property on Hawk Mountain in 1956 and has operated there ever since, gaining national prominence in the 1960s and becoming the model for CAP ranger programs across the country. Courses run from basic land navigation and survival through advanced wilderness medicine and field communications, conducted on the ridge and in the game lands below. The CAP Ranger Section Land Search & Rescue Manual is still a great reference guide for outdoor woodsmanship and survival techniques. Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7.

This brochure cover from the author’s collection shows a cadet sitting on Pulpit Rock .

Photo by the author, May 2017.

The author looking a bit haggard, CAP Summer Ranger School graduation, 1980. With Lt. Col. Elizabeth Magners of the Boyertown Squadron 1102 and my mother. After I attended Winter School, I earned my Ranger 1st Class, which was one of the hardest things I ever did.

The author, May 2017.

State Game Lands 106 in Eckville has a shooting range that the Ranger School used for AR-15s marksmanship training. I still use it today when I’m back home. The monstrous Cabela’s in nearby Hamburg has lots of ammunition.

Hahn Mountain Ski Area
I mentioned Hahn Mountain in the introduction to a piece I wrote on my ancestors, who were legion in the region:

Originally called Big Valley when it opened in the late 1960s, the area was later sold to the owner of the Hahn fire truck company in Hamburg and renamed. It offered three trails, a double chairlift, a T-bar, snowmaking, and night skiing, with a cap of 750 skiers on the slope at a time that kept lift lines almost nonexistent. The lodge had a game room in the basement and a bar on the upper level. It closed in the mid-1980s after a serious lift accident involving the owner. The slopes and lodge shell remain, steadily being reclaimed by scrub pine, visible from Route 143 north of Lenhartsville.

Hahn Mountain’s Ski School, circa 1982 or 1983. Photo provided by Barry Johnston, who served as a ski instructor at Hahn Mountain from 1979-1983.

About 18 years ago, I wrote a comment on a “Lost Ski Areas” website:

I grew up in Berks County, and am getting quite nostalgic reading all this.

In my elementary school years, I grew up near the aforementioned Heidelberg Ski Area (aka Blue Marsh ... or Crystal something?). We lived ten minutes away and were members of the adjacent country club who founded it, and we would sometimes ski under the lights most weeknights after finishing homework and all day Saturdays and Sundays. It was a hardcore group of skiers, some of whom ended up moving out west as instructors. Even after we moved across the county, my father, sister and I would still make the c. 30 minute drive to get a few furtive hours in.

As a family, we had skied at Big Valley a few times, but once we were on the east side of the county and obtained driver’s licenses, we started going to Hahn sans parents on weeknights. It was a c. 40-minute drive in our ‘68 VW Bus, which leaked oil like mad (we’d drive to Hahn, put an oil pan under the engine, ski, and when we came out, we’d pour the drippings back into the oil filler) and had no heat. But, man, was it fun ... and our parents trusting us to handle studies and do this a few nights a week was a true self-esteem builder. A high school friend of mine actually bagged varsity basketball so he could ski there during the week. Another high school friend mowed lawns all summer just to be able to buy a season ticket in cash (I remember him peeling off the bills to buy it and thinking it was about as much money as I’d ever seen in one place at one time ... I think it was c. $125 [it was actually $170, or $732 in today’s money]). He would sometimes drive in a Chevy Citation: His POS car and complete lack of driving skills had us opting for the Bus most of the time. I remember a fill-up was c. $10 ... which is $22 [$43 at this writing] in today’s money, but given the oil crisis/double-digit inflation of the time it really felt like a lot of dough, but completely worth it if skiing was involved.

As we were all of PA Dutch stock, skiing was all about maximizing slope time with minimal lollygagging about in the lodge! As a season ticket holder, I remember literally putting on boots in the parking lot, skiing for three hours (I seem to remember 19:00-22:00 evening hours ... so homework between 16:00-18:00, dinner at home, and then the drive up), and getting straight back in the car to be home completely knackered by lights-out at 23:00-ish!

Ironically, a huge chunk of my family tree dates back to German settlers who founded Lenhartsville in the early 1700s, and I still own a bit of ancestral land near the slope in the family. I only recently became interested in genealogy, but had no idea at the time that every evening I was skiing a stone’s throw away from the gravestones of most of my family tree.

I live in Europe now and my children have learned to ski on a similar time capsule ski area (similarly to being an Allentown/Philadelphia suburb magnet, it’s the closest ski area to Holland and the German industrial north)

The smell of late season man-made snow whilst skiing under the lights takes me right back.

Aside from the usual Poconos locales, another area when I was in college was Little Gap (a.k.a Blue Mountain Ski Area ... Google it up). We also made high school ski trips to a place called Oregon Hill (now Sawmill) and my father learned to ski at a place called Pine Forge.

The prior comment on the combination of 1970s clothing (jeans, gaiters, cotton turtleneck, wool sweater, down vest, etc. etc.) and the often brutal weather really struck a chord ... my face today looks like a trainwreck, and I have never quite regained the feeling back in my toes.

A former racecar driver family friend once told me that “if you learn to drive on junk, you’ll be a star when you get behind the wheel of something real.” Same goes for skiing all that boilerplate.

P.S. Hahn was right around the corner from where I went through CAP Ranger training in 1981 http://www.pawingcap.com/hawk/ ... I distinctly remember a 20-mile hike/rappelling exercise where I looked down over Hahn Mountain from the Pinnacle and wished I was skiing instead of carrying a 50-pound field pack ;-)

P.P.S. The aforementioned WK&S railroad was (and from time to time I believe still is) a location for a traditional family fall picnic of which I have very fond memories.

The remains of Hahn Mountain. Photo by the author, April 2025.

As mentioned in that P.P.S., right up the road in Kempton is the Wanamaker, Kempton and Southern (WK&S) Railroad, a.k.a. “the Hawk Mountain Line”, a steam excursion train that runs along Ontelaunee Creek in the shadow of the same ridge, and was the location for a traditional friends and family fall picnic of which I have very fond memories.

My paternal grandparents Gran Chris and Grand Bob, annual WK&S train picnic circa 1987.

Grimes Airport
Over towards Bethel is Grimes Airport and the Golden Age Air Museum. It’s a 50-acre turf strip sitting at 582 feet on the floor of the Great Valley two miles east of Bethel, in the shadow of the Blue Mountains. It hosts the Golden Age Air Museum, which focuses on pre-World War II aircraft and operates a fleet of flyable antiques including a 1929 Waco Model 10 biplane available for scenic rides over the valley. On a clear summer day, a passenger in the rear cockpit can look north and watch the ridge slide by at eye level, the same horizon that greeted the Pennsylvania Dutch settlers who came through the gaps three centuries ago.

There is something worth reflecting upon: That Waco 10 was built in 1929, the same year Grand Bob and his friends were climbing that same ridge with shotguns and a $5 bounty in mind. Rosalie Edge was still five years away from posting the mountain against hunting. From the front cockpit, looking north at the ridge sliding by at eye level, it is possible to hold all of that at once — the bounty hunters, the sanctuary, and ninety-five years of distance between then and now.

The author, in the Grimes Airport 1929 Waco 10, Jun 2024.

Takeoff:

Landing:

Over the ridge. Photo by the author, Jun 2024.

Photo also by the author, Jun 2024. The natural beauty (and road conditions) of the area is being encroached upon by warehouses and data centers. Asphalt’s the last crop.

Appendix
’Hamburg’, Pennsylvania

The spellings of Pennsylvania place names have varied over time but have been firm for well over half a century and could have been corrected where incorrect in this volume. On the base map, read Fredericksburg in Lebanon County rather than Fredricksburg; in Berks County, Heidelberg rather than Heidelburg; in Lehigh County, Hosensack rather than Hasensack. Incorrect place name spellings are also found in the “Informant Biographies” section: Centre (rather than Center) Township (114), Weisenberg (rather than Weisenburg) Township (115), Sweitzer (rather than Sweizer) Valley (116). The place Leck Kill, Northumberland County, “probably Washington Township” (119) is actually located in Upper Mahanoy Township. In the reprinted articles, a footnote might have been added to the “district” that Seifert (59) identified as Mühlbach: This most likely refers to the township of Millcreek. A footnote would also have been in order to Seifert’s suggestion (58) that “Low Germans first established the city of Hamburg [in Berks County].” Seifert was obviously misled by the fact that in Hamburg, Germany, Low German dialects are spoken. We now know that the name of Hamburg, PA is a misspelling of Homburg, of which there are several in the area where early immigrants originated.”

Hawk Mountain Sanctuary
A recent book just published this year titled “The Feather Wars” by James H. McCommons has an entire chapter on Rosalie Edge and Hawk Mountain. Here’s an excerpt which adds more color to my summary above:

“Raptors had found a champion in Rosalie Edge. In 1932, she attended a joint meeting of the Audubon Societies and the Linnaean Society to hear Richard Pough, a birder from Philadelphia, lecture about a massacre of hawks, owls, and other birds of prey he had witnessed on an isolated mountaintop in northeast Pennsylvania. Pough, who owned a chain of photography stores, had read a scientific paper by a biologist who had been examining the stomach contents of raptors. He obtained his specimens at a “hawk shoot” on Kittatinny Ridge near the town of Reading. Pough decided to see for himself and drove out to the shooting grounds at the end of a rutted dirt road overlooking the picturesque Pennsylvania Dutch farmland. He was astonished to see hunters packing pump and automatic shotguns, concealing themselves in the rocks, and gunning birds as they flew by at eye level. They tethered pigeons to poles for bait and tied wounded hawks to tree branches and poked them with sticks so they would cry out as decoys. In the brush and trees below the ridgeline, Pough found the bodies of hundreds of wounded and dead birds.

The slaughter, a tradition among local people, had been going on for decades during migrations, when the birds rode the thermals and wind currents along the spine of the mountains. Local newspapers celebrated the hunt as an opportunity to rid the land of vermin and protect small game and farm animals. The Pennsylvania Game Commission offered a five-dollar bounty on northern goshawks—good money during the Great Depression—but because most gunners couldn’t tell one hawk from another, they shot them all. There was so much shooting that a junk dealer went up the mountain each week during the hunt to harvest all the discarded brass shell casings for scrap. Years later Pough recalled, “Back then, hawks were a persecuted species. The only good hawk was a dead one.” Even ornithologists of the time used words like pernicious, cruel, malevolent, deadly, and noxious to describe birds of prey and their feeding habits.

Pough returned the following weekend with his camera and two companions, who hiked into the forest downslope and brought back dozens of dead and rotting birds. They lined the bodies up in an opening and took pictures. Pough displayed the graphic images in his talks and later published the pictures in Bird-Lore. He told the audience in New York that two square miles at the top of what was aptly named “Hawk Mountain” were available for purchase. The land was barren and used up—oak trees logged off and chestnut trees killed by blight—and was mostly mined for sandstone to be turned into glass or tombstones. He didn’t have the money, but perhaps help could come through donors or fundraising?

After the meeting, Gilbert Pearson and other Audubon members agreed that it should buy the mountaintop and establish a sanctuary there. Audubon created a twenty-eight-member owl-and-hawk committee to evaluate the society’s stance on birds of prey. They sent someone to look over the site, who, having seen neither hunters nor birds, reported back to the committee that there was no urgency. On the day of the site visit the wind wasn’t blowing, and thus the birds weren’t moving, so the hunters stayed home. A visit on another day would have been quite different.

Edge, disgusted at Audubon’s indecision and inertia, determined to do something herself. In June she went with Pough and a real estate agent to the mountain—a thirteen-hundred-foot promontory with a rugged sandstone spine—and took out a lease for five hundred dollars with an option to purchase for $3,500. The Depression-era price and the worn-out condition of the land made it a bargain, but ECC had limited funds, so she wrote to Van Name and asked to borrow the five hundred dollars until she could line up more donors.

She needed a warden and a caretaker. In fall 1934, she hired a friend of Pough’s, a young man he had met years earlier in Boston who had been working on ornithological projects. Maurice Broun, just twenty-nine, and his wife, Irma, came to Hawk Mountain for the fall migration. Knowing that Edge had limited funds, they agreed to work as wardens for just room, board, and expenses. They ended up staying for decades, making Hawk Mountain a world-renowned sanctuary and doing groundbreaking research into birds of prey. That first season, they had to face off the hunters and guard the road and trails leading up to the summit. It was dangerous work. The shooters were heavily armed and angry, and sometimes pointed their guns at the Brouns or discharged a shot in the air to show their displeasure. One local man said Maurice Broun was the most hated man in the vicinity. But there were other places to shoot birds along the Kittatinny Ridge, and the hunters eventually moved to new locations.

Several wealthy bird-watchers in Philadelphia and New York told Edge they would fund the purchase, but then the National Association of Audubon Societies—under new management and still smarting from its battles with Edge—convinced the donors to give the money to Audubon instead so it could take control of Hawk Mountain. Apparently, Pough was responsible for the change in loyalties. Rosalie Edge felt betrayed and refused to sell or accept any money from Audubon. Van Name, equally incensed, donated his five-hundred-dollar loan, and the two activists fundraised through the ECC, which allowed them to purchase the land in 1938 and incorporate as the Hawk Mountain Sanctuary Association. They even put language in the charter to keep the National Association of Audubon Societies at a distance. Audubon would never get ahold of Hawk Mountain.

In 1937, Pennsylvania passed a law protecting birds of prey except for accipiters—sharp-shinned hawks, northern goshawks, and Cooper’s hawks—which were still considered a threat to poultry and small game. Hawks were not fully protected until 1969. In the intervening years, the Brouns did important scientific work on Hawk Mountain, counting the birds and documenting their migrations. Their data on the decline of eagles and hawks helped Rachel Carson reach her conclusions on the deleterious effects of the pesticide DDT, which led to her landmark book Silent Spring.”

Historical marker. Photo by the author, Dec 2015.

Registered Natural Landmark plaque, 1965. Photo by the author, Dec 2025

The author’s old CAP field jacket still fits almost half a century later. Blaze orange for safety during deer season. Friend’s photo, Dec 2025.

The River of Rocks Trail. Photo by the author 2023.

The River of Rocks. Photo by the author, 2023.

The Hall of the Mountain King. Photo by the author, 2023.

The Hall of the Mountain King. Photo by the author, 2025.

North Lookout looking east on a Hawk Mountain hike with friends, who took the photo, Dec 2025.

Raptor count, North Lookout looking east over the Kittatinny Ridge. Photo by the author, 2023.

Raptor count, photo by the author, Dec 2025.

In December 2025 I bought a book from the bargain bin to take back to Germany ...

... and it turns out the book was originally owned by an Edge descendent.

The author’s favorite hat.

Port Clinton Hotel

If you’re going to hike Hawk Mountain, breakfast or lunch at the Port Clinton Hotel is a must. Port Clinton is the hometown of my great-uncle Edmund Solomon Lenhart “Munny” Miller’s wife’s family, the Robinholds.

The Port Clinton Hotel, where the menu says it serves “The BIGGEST Portions in the AREA”. Local funeral home owner Domer Leibensperger (who went to high school with my father) still advertises on the front of the menu ...

... and on the beer glasses as well. Photo by the author, May 2017

Photo by the author, May 2017. Note the Appalachian Trail sticker over the Yuengling sign.

Civil Air Patrol Ranger School

The author and sister at home near Oley, circa 1979-80.

The CAP wasn’t just ground-pounding, but included flight training, which included grass strips such as Grimes Airport.

Hahn Mountain

$170 for a season pass inflates to $732 in today’s money.

Brochure, collection of the author, circa 1980-83.

Trail map, collection of the author, circa 1980-83.

If the stock market is betting on AI becoming the new “operating system” for the world, but it’s actually just a chirpy, amnesiac intern or a golden retriever requiring constant supervision, the valuation math doesn’t just look shaky; it looks like a bubble waiting for the market to realize they’re paying for a “cool factor” rather than a reliable engine. Even if the models are technically “smarter” than last year’s, if they don’t carry the context, the nuance, and the established trust of ongoing work, they are perhaps doomed to remain stuck at the “novelty” stage. That said, I remain optimistic that a retention arms race is coming. Memory, persistent context, and cross-session learning would address “The Groundhog Day Problem”.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

AI: My Robot Friend
Does anyone remember the South Park episode where Cartman gets in a cardboard box and pretends to be a robot called “Awesom-O”?

The crux of the story is how Butters is completely oblivious to Cartman’s nefarious intentions, because the concept of a non-judgemental non-human companion offsets Awesom-O’s obvious flaws. I have been using Anthropic Claude heavily for a while now, and it has become the only one to which I subscribe. And it has proven really useful.

Investing
I participate in monthly Coburn Ventures calls, where applying AI to investment has dominated the discussion for months. Pip Coburn came up with a whole series called “Conversations with Claude” , which lead toward how to best optimize prompts for investment research and portfolio construction. This became a podcast series.

“Many of you have asked us in one way or another about how we and how investors are using AI. Today we take you through the design principles of our current iteration of our AI workshop. We’re taking time on this foundational layer because it influences the power of everything else. There are three elements we’ll cover today, and I think you’ll see how each one is likely different from how most of the investment and business culture is viewing, and using, AI… Let’s jump in.”

Tax calculations
My accountants recently offered to have me do my own currency conversion calculations for the German tax authorities on hundreds of cost bases on three doggy funds I’d held for 20 years and finally sold in March 2024 (glad I did as I put the proceeds in semiconductor stocks!) to save myself some billable hours. I think they assumed bored retired guy had plenty of time, perhaps weeks, to manually hack in thousands of numbers into a spreadsheet. Instead, I went onto Anthropic Claude to help me learn some Excel functions I’d never used before to convert a brokerage statement into Excel using Power Query, then pull all the daily f/x since 1999 from the ECB website to create a VLOOKUP table; it took me five hours, and then next time I have to do it it’ll take me two. That likely saved (and will save me in the future) dozens of hours and thousands of euros in billable time. I also used this approach to calculate the euro-to-dollar cost basis for some employee share purchase plan (ESPP) stock .

Ancestry
I don’t think I’ve been as excited about a computer application as I am about this. I believe there’s a huge breakthrough opportunity to really make family tree research come alive, and really create some compelling narratives. I view it as transforming amateur genealogy from being self-appointed librarians of dusty shelves full of unread volumes and curating Dewey Decimal cards into “storytellers”. And informed storytellers at that. Plus AI patiently picks up even the most mundane inconsistencies (”you missed that that particular husband and wife came over on the same ship”, or “that birthdate, whilst possible, isn’t plausible ... check for a generational assignment error”). By my estimation, it did what I, even in retirement, would’ve taken months (if ever) to clean up. After I simply uploaded my raw GEDCOM data transfer file from my family tree software, it cranked out some amazing conclusions (please see in the appendix below), and also produced a detailed immigration ship list that goes well beyond the capabilities of the Family Tree maker 2019 software I’m using.

Using this power at my fingertips, I have been able to write pieces on three of my great-grandparents and their lineage so far this year, with the other five on the way:

Drive cleanup
I take a lot of digital photos on my iPhone. I had 57,000 photos which were nearing my cloud space allotment. I recently started deleting the non-cropped/edited versions (the ones with the “E” file names) as I uploaded them, but I had a very long tail of decades worth of doubled-up iPhone photos. I was mentally preparing myself for weeks and possible months of drudgery doing this manually, but Claude wrote me a snippet of command line code that solved the whole problem in 30 minutes, cleared up tons of storage space, and streamlined my future assembly of photo albums.

Sailing studies
Following a successful maneuver training course, I am going to make a run at obtaining my SKS offshore skipper license. The written test is all in German, and I am using Claude to start me on bilingual versions and help me craft on-point answers.

Music analysis
Similarly to the ancestry work, AI is particularly good at having a whole bunch of data thrown at it and responding with some interesting analysis. I uploaded my Spotify playlists, and Claude sussed out why the algorithm had guessed my age to within one year, sorted my playlists by authenticity of context rather than genre, and correctly identified that my two ‘aspirational Manhattan apartment’ playlists barely know the other exists (please see the appendix below).

Off-road winching presentation
My son and I recently gave a presentation (translation here) at the local Jagdverein on safe operation of offroad vehicles, including a winching demonstration.

We both used AI LLMs for fact-checking and ensuring that our calculations were correct.

And these are just a few of the bigger projects. I’ve made hundreds of ad hoc queries as well. There’s absolutely no doubt: AI has proven to be an immensely powerful tool. Transformative even. But there’s just one thing ...

We need to talk about Claude
Interestingly, we don’t hear much gloom and doom about “The Singularity” or apocalyptic “Skynet” scenarios much anymore. The bigger AI concerns now appear to be hallucinations, human job displacement, and potential overinvestment compounded by overblown equity market valuations.

However, for all the productivity benefits I’ve discovered, I really can’t shake one fundamental concern about Claude (and, in fairness, all other AI LLMs). I believe that there’s an even bigger fourth threat, a serious fatal flaw, which I believe could result in an adoption plateau. I believe the film “Groundhog Day” is instructive:

Perhaps the movie “Memento” also describes the phenomenon:

There’s also an old sketch by Bob & Ray called “The Komodo Dragon”:

The humor comes from the fact that the interviewer has absolutely no memory of what has just been said by the guest just seconds before. Everyone needs to listen to it in its entirety, as I think one will soon realize this describes interaction with AI LLMs. Seemingly every session is a cold restart. AI has supposedly read and digested the entire internet, but can’t remember what you did in another thread yesterday.

What’s your name again?
I increasingly fear “The Groundhog Day Problem” could be a real issue for continued user uptake of the chat model. No one wants to have to recreate the wheel every day. People have been conditioned by decades of Big Tech’s total recall, Google finishes your sentences based on searches from 2009, Gmail’s entire history is searchable in seconds, and then they sit down with an LLM that greets them like a golden retriever every single morning. Boundless enthusiasm, zero continuity.

The expectation gap is jarring. If a human colleague forgot something you told them, but you could see them gradually building a mental model of you and your work over weeks and months, you’d forgive the occasional lapse. Progress earns trust. An AI that makes the same “first meeting” mistakes indefinitely, despite seemingly vast capability in every other direction, triggers a very specific kind of credibility erosion. It’s not “this tool has limitations.” It’s “wait, if it can’t remember that, what else is it getting wrong that I can’t see?” The forgetting becomes a proxy for general untrustworthiness, fairly or not.

It’s also in the same psychological area as the “uncanny valley”. The valley isn’t just about faces and robots. It’s about any representation that gets close enough to the real thing that the gaps become actively disturbing rather than just noticeable. A clearly limited tool doesn’t bother anyone. But an AI that converses fluently, remembers things within a session, builds apparent rapport, demonstrates what feels like genuine understanding... and then the next day greets you like a stranger? That’s the valley. You’ve crossed the threshold where it feels like something is wrong rather than just incomplete.

When an AI model demonstrates zero leaning curve, the veracity of its answers can quickly lose credibility ... especially relative to all he billions (and trillions!) of dollars and market cap being thrown at the hardware. “I built this $500 billion mega data center and all I got was this lousy t-shirt ... and a chatbot that can’t ever remember what it just had for lunch.” Those size overlays showing mega “compute” centers larger than New York Central Park make people think “clearly, some of that has to have a few hard drives in there that can remember your interactions, no?”

AI companies are implicitly promising capability at that scale. The average person’s mental model is pretty reasonable: Big building, lots of computers, computers store things, therefore this thing will remember me and my work to date. The actual architecture explanation, transformers, stateless inference, context windows, why persistent memory is a harder problem than it looks, is both true and completely unpersuasive to someone staring at a facility the size of a small municipality.

It also creates an interesting trust asymmetry: Big Tech’s panopticon, your entire Gmail history, every search, every location ping, feels invasive but also feels competent. It knows too much … but the AI assistant feels like it knows nothing. Both are slightly uncanny, but in opposite directions. One knows where you were on a Tuesday in 2014. The other can’t recall that you have a sailboat, despite your having mentioned it at length yesterday.

The Projects feature and memory systems are Anthropic’s attempt to paper over the crack, and they do help a bit, but they’re imperfect and require the user to do work that frankly the system should be doing. Organizing prompt query threads into “projects” is really just like keeping well-maintained bookmark lists in one’s web browser.

The deeper issue is that a “fresh start every time” was originally a feature in some eyes, privacy, no baggage, no filter bubbles. But most everyday users likely don’t think of it that way. They think of it the way they’d think of a colleague with a very specific and exhausting neurological condition. Charming, capable, but you have to brief them from scratch at every meeting.

As I pointed out in another screed, feeling utterly ignored every day isn’t a great feeling:

It’s captured well in the play “Death of a Salesman” when Linda Loman despairs regarding her sad sack husband Willy:

“I don’t say he’s a great man. Willy Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He’s not the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He’s not to be allowed to fall into his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must be finally paid to such a person.”

“I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
The fictional HAL 9000 in “2001: A Space Odyssey” introduced us to the limitations of artificial intelligence decades ago:

A secondary frustration with AI LLMs is the bot-blocker problem, and nobody at the trillion-dollar-valuation level seems particularly embarrassed about it. The user experience is genuinely absurd: Here is a system that can explain quantum entanglement, write a sonnet, and parse the finer points of Indonesian archipelago geography, but it cannot read the New York Times. Or the FT. Or half of Substack.

The BBC licenses content. Bloomberg terminal users pay handsomely for exactly this kind of curated access. Instead, you paste a URL, the AI bounces off a robots.txt file like a confused moth hitting a window, and sheepishly reports that the site doesn’t want to talk to it. Intermittent reinforcement is the most maddening reward schedule there is. Ask any rat.

Data famine
The bot-blocker problem has a twin: An AI that can’t remember you also can’t feed itself. If that same hypothetical forgetful coworker returned at the end of the day to report that they’d tried their best, but couldn’t find the keys to the filing cabinets or any of the system passwords, you wouldn’t just question their usefulness. You’d question whether they belonged in the building at all. Technology that saves time but erodes trust is a luxury, not a utility. Utilities have to be reliable. An unreliable utility doesn’t get built into the foundation of how business works; it gets shunted into the corner as a toy for drafting emails and brainstorming, which is a substantially smaller addressable market than the one currently supporting these valuations.

February third
If the stock market is betting on AI becoming the new “operating system” for the world, but it’s actually just a chirpy, amnesiac intern or a golden retriever requiring constant supervision, the valuation math doesn’t just look shaky; it looks like a bubble waiting for the market to realize they’re paying for a “cool factor” rather than a reliable engine. Even if the latest models are technically “smarter” than last year’s, if they don’t carry the context, the nuance, and the established trust of ongoing work, they are perhaps doomed to remain stuck at the “novelty” stage. That said, I remain optimistic that a retention arms race is coming. Memory, persistent context, and cross-session learning would clearly address “The Groundhog Day Problem”.

In the movie, Phil Connors eventually broke the loop. He did it by becoming genuinely useful to the people around him, by learning, accumulating, and applying what he knew across time. The AI companies that crack persistent memory and cross-session continuity will have built something worth the valuation. The ones that don’t will have built the most expensive golden retriever in history. Punxsutawney, February second coming around again and again. We’ll see who’s learned anything.

Appendix
Ancestry
After I exported my family tree data from Family Tree Maker 2019 via a simple GEDCOM file export uploaded to Claude, and review of my genealogy pieces, it cranked out this text summary and graphic analysis:

“Gunnar Talbott Miller was born on 17 May 1965 in Reading, Pennsylvania, the county seat of Berks County, and grew up in the Hamburg and Oley Valley area -- the same landscape his ancestors have occupied, largely without interruption, since the 1720s. His family tree contains 678 documented direct ancestors spanning seventeen generations, making it one of the more thoroughly researched in Berks County, itself one of the best-documented regions in early America thanks to meticulous Lutheran and Reformed church records, Pennsylvania Archives muster rolls, and the extraordinary density of 18th-century land and probate records.

The overwhelming majority of his ancestors were Pennsylvania Dutch -- German-speaking Lutheran and Reformed Protestants from the Rhine Valley, Baden-Württemberg, the Rhineland-Palatinate, Alsace, and Switzerland -- who fled war, religious persecution, and economic devastation between 1708 and 1767. The proximate causes varied: the War of the Spanish Succession, the Thirty Years’ War’s lingering aftermath, the French occupation of the Palatinate, the catastrophic winter of 1708-09 that froze every river in Northern Europe. The escape route was always the same: down the Rhine to Rotterdam, across the Channel to England, and then the long Atlantic crossing to Philadelphia. They arrived aboard 21 named vessels, among them the Charming Nancy -- owned by Benedict Arnold, on which 250 of 412 passengers died including one ancestor’s mother -- the Samuel, the John and William, and the Globe, which carried a French widow and her two-year-old daughter as part of the very first Palatine wave in 1708. They settled almost exclusively in Berks County, within a day’s ride of Philadelphia, and most of their descendants never left.

At least 23½ of these ancestors served in the American Revolutionary War -- a number that reflects not just military service but the full range of patriotic contribution: captains who evacuated the Liberty Bell from Philadelphia, lieutenants in the Berks County Militia, fifers, privates, patriotic taxpayers, and one Hessian mercenary who deserted the British cause in 1778, looked around at the Pennsylvania countryside, decided it reminded him of home, and stayed. He was right on both counts.

A smaller but equally colorful maternal line traces through English Quakers, Virginia colonial planters, Welsh settlers, and Irish Cromwellian soldiers arriving as early as 1620. One ancestor fought under Oliver Cromwell through the Irish campaign, stopped in Barbados, and helped establish the first permanent European settlement near Charleston, South Carolina -- all before eventually settling in Virginia. Another participated in Bacon’s Rebellion of 1676. A third may have piloted the Mayflower, though genealogists continue to argue about that one.

What is most remarkable about the tree is its geographic stability. Most paternal ancestors lived and died within fifty miles of where they first disembarked in Philadelphia, their descendants gradually filling Berks County with Lenharts, Dieners, Millers, Mosers, Staudts, and Eplers. The tree is 100% complete through five generations, with documented ships, church records, muster rolls, and land patents anchoring the lines deep into the 18th century. It remains rooted in Berks County today, where a brass eagle door knocker on a circa-1820 Hamburg rowhouse still bears the initials of Gunnar’s grandfather -- R.G.L.M. -- a small, durable monument to the whole extraordinary story.”

N.b.: Aggregating the German states, Switzerland, Alsace, and Picardy/Amsterdam yields roughly 70% continental Germanic origin versus 22% British Isles, consistent with the overwhelmingly Pennsylvania Dutch character of my paternal line.

Spotify
“A collection of roughly 1,800 tracks organized by authenticity of context rather than genre. The core is the Anglo-American rock and new wave canon of 1975-1990, sorted into airtight compartments — genuine coastal experience versus constructed nautical aesthetic, formative high school listening versus adult curation, functional exercise music versus aspirational Manhattan apartment life. The sorting logic is tacit and consistent: unselfconscious music belongs in one room, music performing an idea of itself belongs in another. Steely Dan sorts by album across five playlists; Elvis Costello defies every compartment simultaneously. Two aspirational playlists — Standards and Bachelor Pad — exist in a sealed world with near-zero overlap against everything else. The Spotify algorithm got the owner’s age to within one year.

The collection divides naturally into three tiers. The first comprises the four core playlists — Cape & Islands, Smooth Music, The City, and New Wave/80s. Their near-total mutual isolation is the central finding: Cape & Islands and Smooth Music share exactly 1% of their tracks despite appearing to occupy adjacent cultural territory — the difference between music actually playing on a New England dock in 1979 and music evoking that experience from a recording studio in Los Angeles. The sorting system detected this distinction track by track, over decades, without a written policy. The mood quadrant analysis confirms it: Cape & Islands is 65% energetic and happy, reflecting genuine outdoor experience; Smooth sits at 36% calm and happy, the constructed ease of yacht rock at rest.

The second tier — High School, Mountain Bike, and Funky Town — illuminates the collection’s edges. High School, the largest single playlist at 363 tracks, is the most temporally anchored, confirming that “what I grew up on” and “what I curate as an adult” are maintained as entirely separate mental categories despite covering the same era. Mountain Bike is the only playlist centered in the 1990s — highest energy, least acoustic, with a pronounced anti-correlation between danceability and energy (r = -0.401) that precisely captures its character: loud and propulsive but not groovy, organized around a specific physical context and a specific social world observed with the affectionate anthropological distance of a Japanese photographer documenting Ivy League campuses in 1965. Funky Town is the happiest playlist by Spotify’s valence metric, the most danceable, and the only playlist where energy and danceability are essentially the same thing — a sealed groove world where louder genuinely does mean more fun.

The third tier is the most psychologically revealing. Standards is the most isolated object in the entire collection -- zero overlap with every other playlist including Liked Songs. With energy of 0.26 and acousticness of 0.862, it’s not just a different genre -- it’s a different sonic universe entirely, and 51% of its tracks fall into the calm-and-sad mood quadrant, the highest of any playlist. It was also assembled in a single burst: 192 of its 318 tracks were added in 2023 alone, suggesting a deliberate project rather than gradual accumulation. Bachelor Pad has exactly 1% overlap with Standards, the single most telling number in the entire matrix. Two aspirational Manhattan apartment playlists that barely know each other exist -- the distinction being roughly that between the sophisticated urban bachelor fantasy of The Nightfly, Lester Lanin, and Xavier Cugat, and the deeper, more serious aspiration toward the Great American Songbook tradition. One is the set dressing. The other is the thing itself. Bachelor Pad’s own assembly tells a story: 122 of its 222 tracks arrived in 2022, the year before Standards was built, as if one fantasy gave way to a more serious one.

Four artists defeat the sorting system entirely. Steely Dan -- a rotating assemblage of studio musicians rather than a fixed band, which partly explains their range -- distributes 114 tracks across five playlists with almost perfect album-level consistency: Can’t Buy A Thrill and Countdown To Ecstasy in The City, Katy Lied split between Cape & Islands and The City, The Royal Scam in The City, Aja and Gaucho entirely in Smooth, Pretzel Logic and the late albums in Bachelor Pad, and the live Bodhisattva alone in Mountain Bike. The energy-valence scatter plot of their tracks reveals two distinct clouds: the early albums clustered high-energy and high-valence, the Aja-era material drifting left toward lower energy and more complex emotional register. The sorting follows the physics. Donald Fagen’s solo catalogue lands almost entirely in Bachelor Pad, The Nightfly representing the fantasy of a specific kind of New York sophistication most completely. Joe Jackson mirrors the Steely Dan distribution across playlists almost precisely. Elvis Costello spans every compartment without exclusively belonging to any: the collection’s true common denominator, its connective tissue from the aggression of Welcome to the Working Week to the naked vulnerability of Almost Blue.”

26 Aug 2026 Update

The following appeared this morning when I logged into Anthropic Claude:

I queried Claude, and this was the reply:

I boarded the ICE in Frankfurt with a knot in my stomach that had nothing to do with the motion of the train. I was one of the least experienced sailors on the boat, joining people I had never met, in a place I had never been, conducting maneuvers I had never attempted, in a language I conduct with varying degrees of confidence depending on the day. Every single variable was unfamiliar.

What I didn’t anticipate was how quickly unfamiliar becomes interesting, and how quickly interesting becomes something you don’t want to end.

I’m going to try something new. I used Substack notes to record diary entries, and have decided to compile them into a single post. Click through one each one for the full text and selected photos. Complete photo album available here.

Deciding to cast my fate to the wind.

Anticipatory butterflies on the ICE.

Picking up the boat in Breege, and having Kräutermatjes and Schwarzer Heilbutt on the same day.

A crossing to the car-free island of Hiddensee, one of the most unusual places in East German history.

A rainy four-hour sail to the Strelasund, with Hausgebeitzer Lachs at the other end.

Waking up parked next to a Barque called the Gorsch Fock (1933)

Learning the “Q-Wende” and the “Schmetterling”, and sailing close to the wind.

Performing a day’s worth of man overboard drills, and having “Pannfisch nach Ratsherren Art” for dinner.

Watching Vietnamese fishing Baltic herring out on Sabiki rigs, and delving into their star-crossed history.

Leaving Stralsund Hafen with a cannon salute, and sailing by an abandoned East German military base.

Being trusted to sail the boat back to home port, and receiving a touching burgee keepsake.

Climbing what was for 99 years the tallest structure in the world, thinking about The Reformation, and then having a Fischbrötchen on a Fischkutter in the Fährkanal.

The burgee they gave me at the handover isn’t hanging on a wall yet. It’s still in my bag. But every time I reach past it for something else, I’m reminded that the cannon salute, the Vietnamese fishermen, the surfboard escapees, the decomposing Soviet torpedo base, the cuckoo that sounded like Big Ben, none of it was on any itinerary. All of it arrived because I showed up and paid attention.

That seems to be the deal. You show up, you accept the discomfort, you pay attention, and the world turns out to be considerably more interesting than it looked from the platform in Frankfurt.

I already have my eye on the next one.

Wassersportvereinigung Hochtaunus Oberursel e.V.

Google Maps reviews

My maternal grandfather’s father, William Edward “Daddy Will” Talbott was born 152 years ago today -- or so he claimed -- on 17 May 1875 in Halifax County, Virginia, and died on 3 July 1938 in a car on the road back to Danville, Virginia, with most of a continent’s worth of ambition, setback, and resilience packed in between. He is perhaps the hardest of my eight great-grandparents to document, and probably the most American story of all of them.

The Great-Grandparental Birthday Series – Part 3 of 8
“We all die twice ... The first time is when we simply cease to be; the second, when we are forgotten.” – Amelia B. Edwards in 1863, but often attributed to Ernest Hemingway and a host of others.

I’ve always commemorated my grandparents’ birthdays with Facebook posts on their birthdays. This year I’ve decided to expand that to my eight great grandparents on theirs. This is the second in that series.

Their lifespans ranged from 1867 (right after the Civil War) through 1981 (when I was in high school), a 114 year period during which momentous societal changes occurred. In current generational parlance, they were Missionary Generation through Lost Generation. I’ve written about how 1996 might’ve been the most pivotal year for our current timeframe https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/1996-the-year-the-world-changed but imagine going from horse-drawn carriages to watching men land on the moon on television in one lifetime.

Most (six out of eight of them) were Pennsylvania Dutch, and we didn’t really move too far away from our point of disembarkation in Philadelphia to Berks County, Pennsylvania, which remains our family home. I have written extensively about them:

The remaining ¼ on my mother’s side were of English descent, going even further back than my Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors, but I know much less about this branch as my maternal grandfather was the only “Auslander” in our tightly-knit Berks County family. As the family records are less Teutonically-thorough I have written more speculatively about them:

My maternal grandfather’s father was William Edward Talbott (1874-1938)
His parents were James W. Talbott (Abt. 1829-?) and Sarah Elizabeth “Bettie” Sammons (1852-?), both born and raised in Halifax County, Virginia, and married in 1872. Birth records show that William was born on 10 May 1874 to “James Talbott” and “Sarah E. Talbott “. Note that the birth registry book is a re-purposed register of deaths, with “deaths” crossed out and “births” written in. For some reason, through his life he used 17 May 1875 as his birthday, which coincided with mine exactly 90 years later to the day (a phenomenon counterintuitively not as unusual as one thinks). His motives for doing so remain unknown.

Halifax County Register of Deaths Births, 10 May 1874

James W. Talbott appears on a 10 Mar 1860 birth certificate with no name for daughter Adrianna Talbott (1860-1924), shown with the occupation of farmer, and the mother as “M. J. Talbott”; this was James’ first wife Martha Jane Hamilton (1831-?). There’s another birth registry from 10 Apr 1860 with “Unnamed Male” written in for the child, with “James W. & M.J.” as parents.

A side note: When looking over these pre-Civil War Virginia birth registers, one can’t help but be struck by the entries under “sources of information” often reading “Owner” as the relationship.

The documents that clarify things are: 1) An 1860 US Census listing James W. Talbott, 31, farmer, Marthy [sic] J. Talbott, 29, Thomas Talbott, 3, and James Talbott, 2 . 2) An 1870 US Census listing James Talbott, 35 [I believe in error], with occupation “running mill” and real estate worth $300 in a column that’s otherwise largely blank, with Thomas, 13, “attending school”, and Adrianna, 9. That would indicate that Martha Jane died before 1870. 3) An 1880 US census showing James W. Talbott, 57, farmer, Sarah E., 27, keeping house, William E, 5, and Mary C., 2.

However, going above James W.’s father in Halifax County is genuinely difficult. In fact, on the record of James W.’s marriage to his second wife Bettie Sammons (in some records sometimes written phonetically as “Salmon”) on 10 Oct 1872, his parents are simply listed as ”James” and “Lucy”. Online family trees show them as James Talbott (1788-?) and Lucy Standley (1793-?); Lucy’s parents were born in Virginia in the 1770s, but it’s pretty much a dead end after that. The colonial Talbott lines in that region are concentrated in two main clusters: The Talbot County Maryland line (Edward Talbot, arrived in Chesapeake around 1650) and a separate Bedford/Halifax County Virginia line. A “James Talbott” born 1788 in Virginia fits the latter, but without a primary source connecting him to named parents, I can’t responsibly push any further.

The Sammons side has a bit more history. Her father, the wonderfully-named Branch Sammons (1813-?) is pretty much a dead end ex- his parents William Sammons and Mary “Polly” Branch marrying on 18 Dec 1803. The Civil War raises its ugly head here, as Bettie’s brother Richard E. Sammons (1843-1862) died at 19 in the Second Battle of Bull Run, where he was amongst almost 22,000 casualties.

Branch Sammons’ wife Susan A. Womack (1826-?) can be traced a bit further back via her mother Martha Dunkley (1804-?)’s paternal line, whose paternal grandmother Martha Wilson (1740-1797)’s parents were from York, England, and whose maternal great-grandparents Moses Dunkley (1705-?) and Sally “Mary” Prindle (1720-?) were both born in Virginia, indicated that their parents were likely amongst the 17th century Virginia settlers. But before that, the branches on the family tree are pretty thin.

My Halifax County Virginia ancestors left a handful of census entries, a repurposed death register, and a marriage certificate listing parents as simply “James” and “Lucy.” That gap in documentation is itself a historical observation about two very different cultures of record-keeping: On both my father’s sides, Teutonic and meticulously written, on my mother’s paternal side, rural Southern and oral. That said, just wait’ll you see William E.’s wife Mary Belle Haythe’s side coming up on 19 August!

Mary Belle Haythe (1881-1952), with daughter Juliette (1904-1974) circa 1906.

William E. and his wife Mary Belle had eight children, DeEtta (1897-1972), Selma Florence (1899-1904), Empress Verlie. (1902-1970), Juliette Verlie (1904-1974), William Achilles “Willie” (1907-1970), Garnett Catherine (1909-1998), my maternal grandfather Bernice Edward “Bernie” (1912-2004), and Skidmore Hughes (1919-2003). They were certainly creative in the naming department. William E. himself was known as “Daddy Will”, and my grandfather’s name was pronounced “BER-niss”.

I thought about writing on more modern Talbott family history myself, but have decided to simply repeat verbatim an excellent summary written recently by my grandfather Bernie’s son, my uncle William LeRoy “Lee” Talbott (1939-present), who’s my mother Carol Anne Talbott Miller (1942-present)’s brother:

“The Talbott Family moved to Miami in the early 1920s to capitalize on the building boom. Bernie Talbott, who was born in 1912, would have been in junior high school at the time. At the time, the Talbott Family was living in Virginia. Grandfather Will Talbott had a sheet-metal business and did a lot of roofing in Danville and other projects across southern Virginia.

The opportunities during the building boom in the early 1920s in Miami was a real draw for many small businesses: my grandfather’s was no exception. The entire family moved to Miami to take advantage of the building boom. Things were doing well until the hurricane of 1926.

Bernie had ridden his bike into town and went to the drugstore. A surge of water came into the drugstore that was so high they had to jump on the counters and sit there for several hours until the water subsided. Meanwhile his mother was very worried about him and his whereabouts. The family stayed in Miami after the hurricane where the oldest son, Willie, became a sheet-metal worker which is a trade he worked for the rest of his life. Aunt Mary [Mary Catherine Talbott (1878-1968)] was my grandfather’s sister and lived in Orlando.

Bernie finished high school at Miami High School. During high school he worked as a lifeguard at the famous Coral Gables swimming pool. He also worked at a shoe store during high school. Apparently, jockeys from Hialeah racetrack in Miami would come into the store to purchase shoes. Their feet were very small, and they had to wear children’s shoes. Bernie talked to the manager of the store and had him order in some men’s shoes in small sizes. When the shoes arrived, Bernie put them in a suitcase and took them out to the racetrack to show them to the jockeys who purchased all of the shoes. From then on, the jockeys knew what store to shop for shoes. When the president of Douglas Shoe Company [William Lewis Douglas (1845-1924)] heard about that he offered Bernie a job in a management training program that would start in the fall after graduation. The training program was in Baltimore, Maryland.

That is how Bernie began opening and managing stores for Douglas Shoe Company in other cities Including Alexandria in Washington DC area, Philadelphia and Reading, which is what took him to the latter in the mid-1930s. While in Reading he met [my maternal grandmother] Helen Elizabeth Rice (1917-1997) on the tennis court. They were married January 16, 1938 in Reading. For their honeymoon they took Helen’s father Clarence LeRoy Rice (1894-1959)’s car, and drove to Miami where they met Bernie’s parents and some family members.

In July 1938, Bernie’s father was killed in a car accident. The car, a Ford, was driven by his oldest son Willy who survived the accident after a tie rod broke and the car hit a water oak. At the time, the family was in the process of moving back to Danville, Virginia.”

William Edward Talbott’s sheet metal shop, Danville Virginia.

William Edward Talbott’s sheet metal shop, Danville Virginia.

This may have been the car Bernie and Helen borrowed from her father for their honeymoon. I can say with 90% confidence that the car is a 1929 Chevrolet AC International with a “stovebolt” in-line six.

Bernie and Helen’s Reading Eagle wedding announcement, 17 Jan 1938

William Edward Talbott Certificate of Death.

William Edward Talbott obituary.

As I mentioned in the introduction, “Daddy Will” was a member of the Missionary Generation cohort born 1860-1882:

“Members of the missionary generation have been described as the “home-and-hearth children of the post-Civil War era”. They were an idealist generation and as young adults; their leaders were famous preachers. ... Because the lost generation were severely impacted by World War I, the leadership of the missionary generation lasted longer than previous generations, giving the US Presidency four members of this generation from Harding to FDR. Leading the country through the Roaring Twenties, Great Depression and World War II alike, and in the 1930s and 1940s, their elite became the “wise old men” who enacted a “New Deal” and Social Security, led during World War II, and reaffirmed America’s highest ideals during this period.”

His life captured that specific moment where the “Old South” agricultural wealth was transitioning into the “New South” industrial trades. He represents the generation that transitioned from “Man of the Land” (such as the Virginia planters from whom he descended) to “Man of the Machine” (sheet metal and roofing). The Missionary Generation’s defining trait was that they believed in building things -- institutions, businesses, communities -- as a form of moral expression. Will Talbott wasn’t preaching from a pulpit, but a man who picks up his entire family and moves them a thousand miles to put a roof over a boomtown is making the same basic argument: The future is worth the bet.

The Florida Real Estate Boom
People often underestimate what a wild ride this was. The Florida Land Boom of the early 1920s was one of the great speculative manias in American history, fed by the newly affordable automobile, aggressive railroad expansion, and a national mood of postwar optimism that had people genuinely convinced that every acre of subtropical swampland was a future paradise. Developers were selling lots in subdivisions that existed only on paper; buyers were “binder boys” flipping contracts before the ink dried, sometimes turning a profit three or four times on the same parcel in a single afternoon. At the peak in 1925, more real estate was changing hands in Miami than in the entire state of New York. Some of the echoes live on in our language today, including phrases like “and if you believe that, I have some swampland in Florida to sell you.”

The Talbotts were not speculators. They came with skills and tools; sheet metal, roofing, and the ability to actually build the things everyone else was just selling paper on. In that sense, Will Talbott’s instincts were sound. The problem was timing, and then the weather.

I did make mention of the Florida Real Estate Boom in a piece I wrote on my parents’ farmhouse and its owners through the centuries, noting that a Reading family had acquired Florida real estate in Bartow and Ybor City, which probably did not fare well.

Their investment portfolio by 1944 appears to have recovered handsomely, suggesting they had diversified in time. The Talbotts, committed to their trade rather than paper assets, had no such hedge:

“On 29 Apr 1918, Seth and Peter Hartman transferred the 54 acres 131 perches to Clyde McGuiness for $2,000, which would be around $40-45,000 today; the turbulent 1910s after the Panic of 1907, as well as WWI inflation, must’ve taken their toll. The McGinesses appear to have been in yarn, had a pretty extensive investment portfolio, a rowhouse at 1410 N 6th Street in Reading, and they owned some Florida real estate in Bartow and Ybor City, which I can’t imagine fared very well over time. However, their investment portfolio by 1944 appears to have done quite well, as it was worth $175,369, which inflates to around $3.3 million in today’s money. Their largest four single stock holdings were Atlantic Coast Fisheries, Rhode Island Insurance, Crosley Corp., and Farnsworth Television & Radio.”

The 1926 Hurricane: The Real Turning Point
The story of Grandfather Bernie on the drugstore counter is terrifying. The Great Miami Hurricane of 1926 wasn’t just a storm; it was the event that effectively ended the Florida Land Boom, and it deserves more than a footnote. It made landfall on September 18th as a Category 4, with sustained winds around 130 mph, and it hit a city that had never experienced anything like it and had absolutely no emergency infrastructure to cope. Miami in 1926 was a boomtown of recent arrivals -- tens of thousands of people who had come from the Midwest and the Upper South chasing the dream, most of whom had never seen a serious hurricane. Making it worse, a lull in the storm as the eye passed over the city led thousands of people to pour into the streets thinking it was over, only to be caught by the back wall when it came through. The storm killed between 370 and 800 people depending on the source, left 50,000 homeless, and caused what would be roughly $100 billion in damage by today’s estimates. It didn’t just damage buildings; it destroyed the psychology of the Boom. Land prices, already wobbling through 1925, simply collapsed. Banks followed. The regional economy was in depression three full years before the rest of the country caught up in 1929. The Talbotts stayed for 13 more years anyway which tells you something about either their grit, their lack of options, or both, as they were essentially treading water in a collapsed economy.

Tragedy On The Journey Home
By July 1938, after nearly 15 years in Florida, they were finally “going home” to Danville Virginia, only to have the family patriarch to die in transit. Daddy Will died at 63, only two years older than I am as I write this.

There’s a rhythm to this story that history doesn’t usually bother to provide. Old-line Virginia family bets everything on the Boom and heads south. Then the hurricane hits. Fifteen years later, Grandfather Bernie drives his brand-new northern bride down to meet the family -- honeymoon as homecoming -- and five months after that the patriarch is dead on the road back to Danville. They returned in mourning rather than triumph, and the Danville they returned to wasn’t quite the one they’d left.

Which brings me back to that repurposed death register, and the date he chose to call his own. The record says 10 May 1874. “Daddy Will” said 17 May 1875. His reasons died with him. But 17 May 1965 is my birthday -- a coincidence that, as I noted up top, is less astronomically unlikely than it feels, but still lands with a certain weight when you sit with it. I’m publishing this on that date, which is as close as I can get to a handshake across ninety years with a man I never met and very nearly never heard of at all. The first death came in a car on a Virginia road in 1938. The second one isn’t happening today.

The Inheritance: What Daddy Will Left His Youngest Sons
If William’s legacy was a masterclass in how to bet on the future, his sons were the proof that the lesson had been learned. It’s worth noting that my maternal grandfather Bernice E. “Bernie” Talbott (1912-2004) and Skidmore Hughes Talbott (1919-2003) were the two youngest of Will’s eight children, and in many ways the most emblematic of what historians call the G.I. Generation, the cohort that grew up in the Depression, went to war, and came home to build the postwar American middle class with a matter-of-fact competence that their own children would spend decades trying to understand. Bernie was 26 when his father died on that Virginia road, Skid just 18. Both went to war within a few years. Both came home, found their work, and stayed at it for decades. Neither appears to have made much fuss about any of it. That was the inheritance Will left them -- not land, not money, not even a going business, but a template for how to absorb a setback and keep moving. It turned out to be enough.

While Daddy Will’s Florida ambitions were met with the literal and metaphorical storms of 1926 and 1938, the resourcefulness he passed down -- seen in Bernie’s ‘Jockey Shoe’ enterprise -- became the foundation for the family’s next chapter. Daddy Will may not have lived to see what Bernie became, but everything Bernie did traces back to the resourcefulness Will demonstrated.

Bernie served as an EM-3 on the USS Wrangell. He once told me about how hectic operations were surrounding Ulithi, Iwo Jima and Okinawa (not to mention how deadly those island-hopping campaign battles were), as well as the Ryukyus and Tokyo Bay. This was probably one of the most dangerous billets in the Pacific Theatre of WWII (it was an ammunition ship). He served from 1944-46; for some perspective, as a skilled technician, despite being 32 years old and with two children at home, he was drafted in and spent over two years away on active duty.

B.E. Talbott U.S. Navy photo, circa 1944

The strangest souvenir he brought back was a Ka-Bar knife where he’d (out of boredom, one supposes) replaced the leather grip with plastic rings which he’d painted a rainbow color from the insides to create, for the life of me, the most 1970s-looking item I’ve ever seen. He was extraordinarily handy, and made crafted many home improvements himself.

As his obituary shows, he worked as a custom kitchen designer for Quaker Maid Kitchens for 28 years following his aforementioned years with Douglas Shoe Company. He was a borough councilman, assistant scoutmaster in Sinking Spring, Pennsylvania, and was a member of VFW Post 6150 and the USS Wrangell Association.

B.E. Talbott obituary, 2 Feb 2004.

His brother Skid was also educated in the Miami, Florida public schools, and was a graduate of George Washington High School. He was in the US Army Air Forces in the China Burma India (CBI) Theatre of WWII around the same time, and was stationed in Calcutta for two years. He stayed in the family hometown of Danville to run the Linotype and printing operation at the Danville Bee (now owned by Warren Buffett), and was with the company for 42 years. He was a member of Main Street United Methodist Church and served on several committees and as an usher. He was a charter member of the American Legion Post 325, VFW Post 647, and B.P.O.E. # 227.

My Childhood Trips to Danville
After all that heavy stuff involving economic collapse, hurricanes, and world wars, I thought I’d relate some of the many fond memories of childhood trips down to Danville there with Grandfather Bernie... a few times driving in his Ford Mustang (or the successor Maverick), but some including flying down to Greensboro from Reading in the 1970s, one trip of which gave me one of my funniest flying stories of all time:

Allegheny used to have connections with Piedmont out of RDG. This must’ve been in the mid-1970s, and we were waiting in the lounge when an Allegheny Commuter flight came in from Philadelphia and none other than beloved childhood Philadelphia childrens’ TV personality Gene London came off the incoming plane and made a beeline for the men’s room before I could muster the courage to obtain an autograph. We then boarded what must’ve been a Fokker F-27 or Dash 7 for one of the flight legs. All I remember was that an extremely portly passenger boarded and was so (ahem) portly that they had to seat him in the three-seat at the back end of the plane; they had to strap him in using an extra seatbelt section. We squared up for the take-off roll, powered up, but halfway down the runway the pilot aborted take-off and rolled back to the terminal. He explained that we were tail-heavy, and that we’d have to shed some weight. I’ll never forget glancing back through the window to see the shamed food giant passenger with his pathetic little suitcase and too-short clip-on tie flapping in the wind as we powered off of the tarmac. I also remember vividly having a 50-something male flight steward who was the first non-female cabin crewperson I’d ever seen, who snuck us some extra bags of peanuts:

Later, we had a near-miss approach at our connecting airport which involved an at least two-g ascent, but I was loving it, considering I was around 12 years old and stuffed full of sotto voce airline peanuts.

Uncle Skid had a souped-up black Gen 4 Chevy Impala. One of their sons and his wife had a house with a waterbed (which was the style of the time), and Bernie and I had a bit of a giggling fit rutching around on it. Uncle Skid had all sorts of souvenirs from the war, including a hookah and native crafts. He gave me one of his CBI patches and a USAAF patch, the latter of which I sewed onto a hat and both of which I later sewed onto on a leather flight jacket. We went to a NASCAR race on a red clay dirt track in Greensboro, and I wore a t-shirt from there for many years. Skid’s wife Emma Jane was a great cook, notably fried chicken. I also remember drinking a lot of Dr. Pepper and eating Hardees hamburgers.

Skid and Emma Jane lived out in the suburbs, but Aunt Garnett still lived downtown in the big rambling family Victorian. Behind the house was a garage in which two old cars from the ‘30s were parked, and I used to go out and sit in them. She used to let me stay up to watch The Tonight Show Johnny Carson with her on TV. She also had a gruesome scar from a knee operation that she wasn’t afraid to show people.

It’s funny the stuff one remembers. But I never forgot how everyone was always very kind to me.

B.E. Talbott Dependent Identification Certificate, 19 Sep 1944.

B.E. Talbott letter from the Pacific, 18 Aug 1945

Article on B.E Talbott meeting my great aunt Maria “Marie” Dorthea Rice’s (1918-1970) husband Paul Albert Kube Sr. (1918-1988) in the Pacific, 23 Aug 1945.

Paul was a Warrant officer and CFC(AA), or Fire Controlman, Anti-Aircraft, which is a highly skilled rating. He was manning the anti-aircraft fire control systems, exactly the people who were most desperately busy during the kamikaze campaign at Okinawa. The USS New Orleans was a heavy cruiser that was very much in the thick of the Pacific war by 1944-45. So I have three family members documented in the same Pacific theater simultaneously:

• Bernie Talbott, EM-3, USS Wrangell (ammunition ship), Ulithi/Iwo Jima/Okinawa

• Munny Miller, Ensign/Lt. jg., USS LST-728, Okinawa/Leyte/Guadalcanal/Sasebo

• Paul Kube, CFC(AA), USS New Orleans, Pacific theater

And Bernie actually ran into Paul somewhere out there. Three men connected to the same Berks County Pennsylvania social world, scattered across the Pacific, one of them stumbling across another in the vastness of it.

My paternal great-grandmother Cora Susanna Lenhart Miller was born 148 years ago today, on 13 May 1878, in Lenhartsville -- a town her own great-grandfather had founded -- and died on 23 Sep 1949 at age 71 in Hamburg, eight miles away. She never needed to go far. She was the last child of a 43-year-old mother and nearly 50-year-old father raised essentially alone in a household whose other children were already adults. By the time Cora married Robert Pattison Miller in 1911, the Hamburg Miller family had been in Berks County for six generations. Her Berks County roots ran even deeper. Her membership in the Missionary Generation prophet/idealist archetype was no accident -- it showed in everything she did.

The Great-Grandparental Birthday Series – Part 2 of 8
“We all die twice ... The first time is when we simply cease to be; the second, when we are forgotten.” – Amelia B. Edwards in 1863, but often attributed to Ernest Hemingway and a host of others.

I’ve always commemorated my grandparents’ birthdays with Facebook posts on their birthdays. This year I’ve decided to expand that to my eight great grandparents on theirs. This is the second in that series.

Their lifespans ranged from 1867 (right after the Civil War) through 1981 (when I was in high school), a 114 year period during which momentous societal changes occurred. In current generational parlance, they were Missionary Generation through Lost Generation. I’ve written about how 1996 might’ve been the most pivotal year for our current timeframe https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/1996-the-year-the-world-changed but imagine going from horse-drawn carriages to watching men land on the moon on television in one lifetime.

Most (six out of eight of them) were Pennsylvania Dutch, and we didn’t really move too far away from our point of disembarkation in Philadelphia to Berks County, Pennsylvania, which remains our family home. I have written extensively about them:

The remaining ¼ on my mother’s side were of English descent, going even further back than my Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors, but I know much less about this branch as my maternal grandfather was the only “Auslander” in our tightly-knit Berks County family. As the family records are less Teutonically-thorough I have written more speculatively about them:

My paternal grandfather’s mother was Cora Susanna Lenhart Miller (1878-1949)
She was the daughter of Solomon Hayman Lenhart (1828-1910) and Esther Gruber Deill (1835-1922), who were part of the Gilded Generation:

“Strauss and Howe define the gilded generation (nomad archetype) as those born from 1822 to 1842. They came of age during rising national tempers, torrential immigration, rampant commercialism and consumerism, declining college enrollment, and economic disputes. This led to a distrust of zealotry and institutional involvement, shifting focus to a life of materialism. Most of the American Civil War soldiers were born during this period (the average age was 26).”

Note that her mother was 43 and her father nearly 50 and when she was born. She was the youngest of four of their children who lived into adulthood (three didn’t); her eldest brother Richard T. Lenhart (1857-1931), 21 years her senior, married Annie R. Seidel (1860-1918), who was descended from the founders of Shoemakersville, Pennsylvania (which I will touch upon in future pieces). Side note: As I’ve been exploring all this ancestry, I’m struck by how many people appear to have died during the 1918-1920 Spanish Flu pandemic.

Cora’s father Solomon Hayman Lenhart (1828-1910) was the eighth of what would turn out to be 25 (!) live births by his parents Samuel Lenhart (1798-1869) and Lydia Hayman (1802-1872), of whom 13 would survive into adulthood, and grew up on the Lenhart Farm in Lenhartsville, Pennsylvania , a town founded by her paternal great-grandfather Heinrich “Henry” Lenhart (1773–1837). The house was built around 1830 and the barn in 1841 by my 3rd-great-grandfather Samuel Lenhart (1798-1869), who clearly had plenty of help. The property was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1978.

Lenhart Farm in Lenhartsville, which was founded by my 4th-great grandfather Heinrich “Henry” Lenhart (1773-1837), son of Jacob Lenhart, on land owned by his grandfather Johan Peter Lenhart (1708-1774). Photo: by the author, Aug 2021

The Lenhart Farm house was built around 1830 and the barn in 1841 by my 3rd-great-grandfather Samuel Lenhart (1798-1869). The property was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1978 . Photo: Wikipedia.

Her paternal 2nd-great-grandfather (my paternal 5th-grandfather) Johannes Jacob Lenhart (1736-1793) was born in Zweibrücken in the Rheinland-Pfalz and, with his parents (my 6th-great-grandparents) Johann Peter Lenhart (1708-1774) and Anna Maria Margaretha Moser (1713-1777) who were originally from Horn Hunsrück also in the Rheinland-Pfalz, arrived in Philadelphia on the “Two Brothers” in 1748. During the Revolutionary War, he was a Fifer, 2nd (Cpt. Jacob Ladich’s Greenwich Twp.) Co., 1st. (Lt. Col. Samuel Ely’s) Battalion, Berks County Militia, 1780. His wife Anna Maria Keel (1738-1791) was born in from Sankt Julian, Kusel, Rhineland-Pfalz near Kaiserslautern, and sailed to Philadelphia on the “Loyal Judith” in 1742.

The Lenharts’ 1748 arrival places them toward the later side of most of my ancestors’, and whilst the Lenhart’s Revolutionary War service and eponymous town founding are certainly notable, I can’t find very much remarkable about her paternal grandmother Lydia Hayman (1802-1872)’s line.

The Grubers
On the other hand, Cora’s mother Esther Gruber Deill’s lineage is absolutely fascinating. Esther’s father’s family is a genealogical brick wall, but her maternal great-grandfather Christian Gruber Jr. (1745-1822) was amongst the first of the Gruber line to have been born in America:

The Pennsylvania Dutch Fraktur baptismal certificate of my 5th great-grandfather Christian Gruber Jr. (1745-1822). It says that Christian Gruber [Jr.] was baptized 18 Jan 1745 (at 13 days old) to parents Christian Gruber [Sr.] and Anna Kunigunda, before Heinrich Gruber [Jr., his uncle] and his wife Eva Rosina as witnesses. There’s a note snaking through the bottom that says he died in 1822.

For intrepid readers of my genealogy pieces, note that this Gruber line is separate from my other paternal great-grandmother Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener (1877-1949)’s grandfather Simon Gruber (1750–1815), the Hessian mercenary deserter. For fellow Berks Countians, it is also worthy of note that this family turns out to be connected by blood, and not merely by marriage, to the Gruber Wagon Works [about which the husband of one of my 1st great-aunts wrote an authoritative history as his master’s thesis], which became the centerpiece of the Berks County Heritage Center after it was moved from Mt. Pleasant for the construction of the Blue Marsh Dam in the 1970s. The Wagon Works was founded in the late 19th century by Franklin H. Gruber (1835–1898), whose 3rd-great-grandfather Heinrich Gruber Sr. (1671–1741) of Steinsfurt is my 7th: his line and Cora Sue's descend from two of Heinrich's sons, Hans Heinrich Gruber Jr. (1700–1777) and Christian Gruber Sr. (1712–1781), making Franklin my 4th cousin, four times removed. Franklin started the Wagon Works with his brothers Erasmus H. Gruber (1837–1911) and Isaac Henry Gruber (1833–1906). And here the two family connections converge: Isaac's son William E. Gruber (1857–1950), my 5th cousin three times removed on the Lenhart side, married my 3rd-great-aunt Salome Dietrich (1858–1953) on the Miller side, sister of Henrietta Hosisia Moser Dietrich (1857–1920), who married my paternal 2nd-great-grandfather “Big George” Brobst Miller (1856-1937).

At Wolfbrook Farm, just north of the Wagon Works on the Bernville-Shartlesville Road, my parents had both a Gruber hay wagon and pony cart.

Gruber pony cart, pulled by pony “April”, driven by my mother Carol Talbott Miller with the author and sister on board. Photo taken by my father, Robert George Lenhart Miller Jr.

“Gruber” (sometimes Anglicized to “Gruver”) is one of the more common surnames in the German-speaking world, particularly in Bavaria and Austria. It derives from the Middle-High German word Grube (pit, hollow, or trench), and originally referred to someone who lived near or worked in a hollow or depression in the land. It was essentially a topographic or occupational surname pointing to a farmer or laborer associated with such terrain. So almost as common as “Müller/Miller”.

Anyway, her paternal 2nd-great-grandfather (my paternal 6th-great-grandfather) Christian Gruber Sr. (1712–1781) was born in Steinsfurt near Sinsheim in Baden-Württemberg. Family tradition has him arriving in Philadelphia on the "Dragon" in September 1732 with his elder brother Heinrich "Henry" Gruber Jr. (1700–1777), though only Henry appears on the ship's three surviving lists, so Christian's own crossing remains undocumented [also aboard the "Dragon" was my paternal 6th-great-grandfather Hans Johann Georg Leibensberger (1692–1767) and his wife Maria Catharina Kuhn (1696–1773) on the Diener side, although they were from Ilshofen near Schwäbisch Hall, 80 kilometers away, so the families likely didn't know each other]. Christian was in Tulpehocken by January 1742 at the latest, when he married Anna Kunigunda Stupp (1721–1799) at Christ Little Tulpehocken Church near Bernville; he was naturalized in April 1760 and was a prominent early settler in the area. The family remained largely concentrated in the Berks County region for several generations before branches moved into York County and eventually westward.

The Stupps
But the real fun starts with the Stupps, who deserve some focus. My 7th great grandfather Martin Stupp (1683-1753), also originally from Baden-Württemberg, was one of the first Palatine migrations from Holland via England to America. During a time of drought, economic and religious strife in Germany, Queen Anne offered displaced Germans an opportunity to settle in New York, and Martin committed to being an indentured servant cutting trees for pitch and tar. So one “Maarten Stüb” and three of his children were listed on Captain J. Untank’s ship in the 5th party of Palatines in Holland.

The times were pretty dire. An account from London at the time; one can’t help but think of the plight of modern day refugees met with similar exhaustion:

“In the spring of 1709, some ten thousand people from the German Palatinate and surrounding states travelled down the Rhine River to Rotterdam and boarded ships bound for London, England, in the hopes of being transported to America at Queen Anne’s expense. Many of those Germans succeeded in their quest and were sent to America in 1710; a few were scattered throughout England. About 3000 of them were sent to Ireland in the fall of 1709.

The majority of the immigrants sailed from Rotterdam in six distinct shipments that were paid for by the British Crown, and were set up in refugee camps in various parts of London. Ministering to the Palatines’ needs in London—both physical and spiritual—were two German-speaking pastors, John Tribbeko, Chaplain to Queen Anne’s late consort, Prince George of Denmark, and George Andrew Ruperti, Minister of the German Lutheran Church in the Savoy. The two pastors distributed the Queen’s charity, helped to find lodgings, and began to make lists of the Palatine arrivals for submission to the Board of Trade whose responsibility it was for sustaining them and settling them in the Plantations.

The ministers recorded the name, age and occupation of each head of household, the presence of a wife and children, and religion. However, by late June, with so many Palatines needing assistance, the ministers were worn out, and they asked the Board to find additional resources to assist in dealing with the Palatines. As a result, we have lists of the 6553 people who arrived in London in the first four shipments, but no lists for the approximately 4000 people who arrived in the fifth and sixth shipments.”

When Queen Anne’s venture failed, Martin and the other Rhinelanders were released from servitude, but the land they had settled in New York was under dispute, forcing yet another migration. The original Tulpehocken settlers in Berks County had formerly been part of a group of some 4,000 Palatine Germans who colonized New York under Governor Hunter in 1710. Unable to carry out the impractical plan of producing tar for the Queen’s Navy, and later unable to acquire land titles in the Schoharie Valley, a good portion of the Schoharie community traveled to Tulpehocken in groups of fifteen to fifty families, led by the legendary Conrad Weiser (1696-1760) and others. Martin Stip (Stupp) is listed among the first settlers of old Tulpehocken Township right there alongside Weiser in the same early settler list. Martin Stupp was also one of the signers of the road petition in the Tulpehocken area in September 1727. Weiser moved to the Tulpehocken area in 1729 and built his farmhouse on 890 acres.

The Stupps settled near Womelsdorf, but in 1737 Martin received a warrant for one hundred acres bisected by the Northkill Creek, which flows into the Tulpehocken a mile further downstream at Bernville. In 1743 Martin transferred ownership of that tract to his son-in-law Christian Gruber Sr., who had married his daughter Anna in 1742. Their home, a cabin now known as the “Cat’s Meow,” still exists on privately owned property in Tulpehocken Township. So the Cat’s Meow cabin and its 100 acres was the Stupp-then-Gruber property on the Northkill Creek, distinct from Weiser’s plantation.

Stupp cabin “The Cat’s Meow” in Tulpehocken township, Berks County, Pennsylvania.

Both Martin and his wife Anna Catherine Schultheiss (1695-1738), who was also part of the 5th Palatine Party and was originally from Weilburg, Limburg Kreis, Hessen near where I live today, are buried at Friedens Evangelical Lutheran Church Cemetery in Bernville, Pennsylvania.

The Stupp connection confirmed something I’ve suspected for some time: My wife Karin Spies and I are not blood related, but we are connected through a complex chain of marriages between our respective families. My wife is my “4th cousin 6x removed of husband of 1st cousin 1x removed of husband of 2nd cousin 6x removed”. Here is a breakdown of how your family trees intersect through marriage: The link begins with my 2nd cousin 6x removed, Rebecca Hiester (1781-1841). Rebecca was married to Henry Augustus Philip Muhlenberg (1782-1844).

The connection then moves through Henry’s family to his paternal grandmother, Anna Maria Weiser (1727-1802). The chain then continues through the Weiser family to Henry’s 1st cousin 1x removed Anna Eva Weiser (1755-1825). Anna Eva Weiser married Daniel Womelsdorf II (1745-1793), and this marriage brings the Womelsdorf family into the chain.

The lineage then traces back several generations through the Womelsdorf family in Germany to Johannes Womelsdorf (1609-1672). The connection jumps to the Riedesel family through his sister (or 3rd great-aunt to the person in the chain), Anna Elisabeth Womelsdorf (1682-1747) marrying Johannes Riedesel (1634-1726). From here, the path follows the Riedesel line back down through several centuries: Wilhelm , Johann Gabriel , Johannes Ludwig , Ludwig , Johann Georg Ludwig , and Heinrich Ludwig, with the Riedesel line eventually leading to the Spies family via Karin’s paternal great-grandmother Wilhelmine Riedesel (1878-1965), her daughter and Karin’s paternal grandmother Lina Hackler (1905-1938), to her father Heinz-Martin Spies (1937-2015), and then her.

These were all people in and around Womelsdorf Germany (namesake of the Pennsylvania settlement), Schwarzenau (home of the Alexander Mack Dunkards) , and Elsoff (home of the Hiesters), all of which deserve their own separate treatments in due course.

Womelsdorf Pennsylvania has a German-style town sign on the outskirts, with a plaque in Pennsylvania Dutch that reads “This sign is a symbolic bond between the people from Womelsdorf Germany and the people of Berks County Pennsylvania, 1980”. Note that 46 years ago when this was made, since it was unofficial, the residents deliberately made it read “Kreis Wittgenstein, Regierungsbezirk Arnsberg” because they were still cross about their county having been merged into Kreis Siegen, with the “SI” license plates to match. Just four years later, it had been renamed “Kreis Siegen-Wittgenstein”, and since 2012 one can once again obtain “BLB” (Berleburg) license plates.

The Riesers, the LeVans, and the Huguenots
Cora’s maternal great-grandfather (my 4th great-grandfather) John Adam Gruber (1786-1871) had married Susanna Rieser (1788-1855), the latter of whose family has some really deep roots that circle around back to the Oley Valley. Susanna’s maternal great-grandfather Hans Jacob Rieser (1685-1761) was born in Huttwil, Bern, Switzerland; he, his wife Elisabeth Baeurle LeVan (1694-1795), and children including her grandfather (my 6th-great-grandfather) Johannes Rieser (1718-1793), sailed from Rotterdam to Philadelphia on the “Adventure” in 1727. They settled in Leesport, Center Township, Berks County, and started what would become a multi-generational grist mill.

Johannes married Anna Elizabeth LeVan (1725-1782). She was the daughter of my paternal 7th-great-grandfather Abraham LeVan (1698-1779), son of French Huguenot refugees from Picardy, France Daniel Hugo LeVant (1672-1768) and Marie Beau (1676-1765) left with at least two of his brothers Isaac Beau LeVan (1700-1783), and Jacob Beau Levan (1702-1766) and arrived in Philadelphia in 1715. They settled in Oley and Maxatawny Townships. Late in life, Abraham was appointed Judge of the Court Martial, Fourth Battalion, County of Berks, Pennsylvania Line, May 17, 1777. He also served as Guard of Prisoners of War in Captain Geist’s Company, 4th Battalion, Berks Co. Militia, guarding prisoners that had attempted to escape and afterward guarding them from Reading to Lancaster. This made him the eldest of the 23 ½ Revolutionary War ancestors from whom I’m directly descended:

A bit on the LeVans and the Huguenots. The LeVan Family were among the refugees who fled from France to Holland after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685). Family tradition says they were manufacturers of brocade and taffeta in their native country, and that they were of considerable wealth. The same tradition states Marie (Beau) LeVan, wife of Daniel was thrifty and ingenious, employed an odd but clever ruse to bring some of their wealth out of France. She made a dress of “squares”, into which blocks or squares she sewed gold pieces.

They were intertwined with the major Oley Valley Huguenot families. The LeVans, Bertolets, DeTurks, and LaDees all arrived within a few years of each other, intermarried constantly, and essentially built that community together from scratch in the 1710s-1730s.

Here’s how interesting it gets: My 7th-great-grandfather Abraham LeVan appears in two of my family lines, albeit tangentially:

Chain 1, my father’s side (direct blood descent): Abraham LeVan (b.1698) → Anna Elizabeth Levan (b.1725) → Daniel Rieser (b.1763) → Susanna Rieser (b.1788) → Susanna Gruber (b.1812) → Esther Gruber Deill (b.1835) → Cora Susanna Lenhart (b.1878) → Robert George Lenhart Miller Sr. (b.1913) → Robert George Lenhart Miller Jr. (b.1940) → me.

Chain 2, my wife’s side: A completely separate connection through the Womelsdorf and Riedesel families of Wittgenstein, Westfalia, Germany, connecting to my wife’s ancestry rather than mine directly. Interesting nonetheless.

Cora’s ancestry reaches back through the Lenhart name itself to Bischweiler and Bischholtz in Alsace in the early 1600s, as the Leonhardt family was there before the Thirty Years War devastated the region. Then through multiple other lines: The Probst family from the Reformed church in Kandel and Oberseebach, the Kuntz family deep-rooted in Niederbronn, the Stambach family from Durstel, all of whom came from the same Reformed Protestant Alsatian and Palatinate corridor that fed the great Pennsylvania German migration of the 1730s and 1740s. And the LeVant/de Sémery families from Picardie are genuine Huguenot refugees who fled via Amsterdam after 1685. This is all the same migration wave, the same Reformed Protestant communities, arriving in Berks County within a decade of each other and promptly intermarrying across the same church networks.

An Active Life
Cora was confirmed on 31 March 1893 at St. John’s Church in Hamburg, Pennsylvania, at age 14 -- the same Berks County church community that had anchored her family for generations. Funny side note: The certificate says “St. John’s Reformed Church”. St. John’s was originally consecrated in 1790 as a United Evangelical Lutheran and Evangelical Reformed church, with both denominations sharing the same building. It remained a joint Lutheran-Reformed congregation until May 1898, when the congregations voted to separate and build their own churches. After 1898 the Reformed congregation presumably became First Reformed Church, which is exactly where Cora’s adult membership was. She followed her denomination when it split off. After 108 years of sharing a church, they finally couldn’t stand each other anymore and built separate ones. Very on-brand for Pennsylvania Germans.

31 Mar 1893 Certificate of Confirmation issued by St. John’s Church, Hamburg, Pennsylvania.

She married my great-grandfather Robert Pattison Miller (1882-1954) in 1911, settling at 45 North 4th Street in Hamburg, where they would raise their family. Their son Robert George Lenhart Miller Sr. (1913-1999) -- my paternal grandfather -- was born in 1913, followed by Edmund Solomon “Munny” Miller (1915-1978). Cora was 33 when my Grand Bob arrived, on the older side for starting a family even by the standards of her generation -- though perhaps not surprising for a woman who had herself been born to a 43-year-old mother and a nearly-50-year-old father. Late arrivals seem to have run in the family.

[Addendum: After I initially published this piece, my mother informed me: “You know that the diamond ring given to me when Your Dad and I married was Cora’s? Cora’s ring was her “tea” ring not her wedding ring (can only imagine how big that was!)” A "tea ring" was the smaller, more delicate ring a woman of that era and social standing would wear for everyday activities, including pouring tea, where a large stone might catch on things or seem ostentatious in a domestic setting. The fact that the everyday ring was substantial enough to serve as an engagement ring a generation or two later says something about the Millers' position in Hamburg civic life. I saw my mother’s ring every day, but this was news to me. Had I not written the piece, that was something I would’ve never known and would’ve been lot in the sands of time.]

Robert worked in greater Hamburg’s commercial life whilst Cora threw herself into civic Hamburg with characteristic energy. Her public roles were substantial for the era: Past president of the Woman’s Club of Hamburg; former district chairman of the Berks County Chapter of the American Red Cross; and nine years president of the Hamburg Branch of the Reading Hospital Auxiliary -- a remarkable tenure suggesting she was not merely a figurehead but a genuine institutional anchor. She was also a member of First Reformed Church, the Hearthstone Circle, and the Missionary Society . The “Missionary Generation” label fits her well.

By the time of my paternal grandparents’ wedding on 4 September 1937, Cora was 59 and at the height of her civic prominence. She appears in their wedding film (see below) alongside Mamie Miller Diener -- the two great-grandmothers who between them embodied six-plus generations of Berks County continuity.

45 North 4th Street, Hamburg Pennsylvania.

My great-grandmothers (l-r) Cora Susanna Lenhart Miller (1878-1949) and Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener (1877-1949) at my grandparents Robert George Lenhart Miller Sr. (1913-1999) and Christine Elizabeth Diener’s (1913-2011) wedding in Hamburg, Pennsylvania, 4 Sep 1937.

Wedding movies here:

The whole reel was probably taken 1935-37. Gran Chris (1913-2011) and Grand Bob (1913-1999) swimming with her brother Walter Miller Diener Sr. (1902-1989) and wife Ruth Virginia Hiltebeitel (1909-1965). Switches to color at the same place (Pine Forge/Grove, Schuylkill County?). Then skiing behind what looks like the Lenhart Farm in Lenhartsville (right off of the north side of what now is Interstate 78). Some kid in a flying cap. Color footage of someone else’s wedding, with Blue Mountains in background, so must be Hamburg. Then building a duck blind. Then color artistic wheat field shots, clearly northern Berks County, with old-fashioned haystacks. More footage taken of the foothills below The Pinnacle, through which I-78 now runs. Note the Revolutionary War-style split-rail fences. Out-of-focus foliage, then back to black and white of the North fourth Street house, and some kids on tricycles. Then Grand Bob with their terrier. Then the start of their wedding footage from 4 September 1937; lots of people standing around lines. Gran Chris’s father Irwin Albert Diener (1867-1936) died the year before, but her mother Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) as well as Grand Bob’s Father R.P. Miller (1882-1954) and mother Cora Sue Lenhart (1878-1949) are in frame.

This is another film from the Poconos circa 1937:

At around 2:00 in, that could be either my paternal great-grandmother Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) or my paternal great-grandmother Cora Sue Lenhart (1878-1949). Not many 19th century people were captured on color motion pictures.

Then another from the early ‘40s:

First, Kodachrome backyard blossom shots, North 4th Street, Hamburg, PA. Then, I believe great-grandfather R.P. Miller (1882-1954) himself and unidentified wearing white gloves. Then Grand Bob and Gran Chris walking in the garden. Uncle Munny (Edmund Solomon Lenhart Miller)’s daughter Lynda Miller (1940-) in red and white shirt with Gran Chris. Then great-grandmother Cora Sue Lenhart Miller (1878-1949) in the blue polka-dot dress, R.P. Miller, Chris & Bob. Then Dad (1940-) with garden sprinkler. Then Dad and Aunt Cynthia (1943-) on the pedal car that’s still up in the rafters in the barn. That sailor suit is also still somewhere back home. Then grandmother shows up with a baby, so perhaps that’s Aunt Gretchen (1944-), which would back-date this to 1943-44. Then there’s Uncle Munny in WWII naval uniform ... he would’ve been in his late 20s after graduating from Duke. Then native American dress-up.

I have a color home movie from the late ‘40s:

It’s a kids’ pony party at Tall Spruces; my Grand Bob is shown delivering drinks at 1:34 with either of my great grandmothers Cora Susanne Lenhart (1878-1949) or Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) (I can’t tell which) in frame, so this might’ve been 1947-48 right before they both died. He’s also shown leading a pony at 3:25.

Cora Susanne Lenhart Miller died 23 Sep 1949 at 71. From Huguenot gold to Lenhartsville to Hamburg civic life, her membership in the Missionary Generation prophet/idealist archetype was no accident -- it showed in everything she did.

Updated 9 Jul 2026

Older People in Older Houses
One of the writers whose daily work I read religiously is Joachim Klement, who recently wrote a piece on the barriers to home ownership for young people:

Klement on Investing

Roast chicken and nest egg

The traditional way for middle-class people to build wealth and a retirement nest egg is to save for the down payment for a house and then pay the mortgage for a couple of decades until you own the home outright. But in countries like the US and the UK, this dream of homeownership has become increasingly distant for the younger generation. And this has …

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6 months ago · 30 likes · 5 comments · Joachim Klement

After reading it, I felt compelled to write a long comment:

“My observation is that each successive post-WWII generation has clearly faced three growing impediments: 1) Declining real wages, which peaked in the 1970s alongside solid unionized jobs with decent benefits, 2) tertiary education costs outstripping inflation, and 3) increasingly restrictive NIMBY zoning; as the saying goes, an environmentalist is someone who’s already built his house in the woods. This may be even more pronounced in Europe and the UK, where barriers to suburban sprawl are entrenched and construction standards are prohibitively high (Europeans already take great pleasure mocking Americans for their “stick-built” housing).

I’ve written about the first factor here https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/the-golden-calf-of-optimization ; the second is well-documented (note how broadly popular student loan forgiveness attempts were); and Prof. Scott Galloway has addressed the third https://www.profgalloway.com/project-2028-housing/ . But I haven’t seen serious work on a fourth factor I suspect is also at play: The impact of longer life expectancies on housing stock turnover.

In Germany, I live surrounded by 80- and 90-something widows and widowers rattling around in four-bedroom homes, and my 88-year-old mother-in law has a whole renovated train station to herself. Back in the US, my 85-year-old parents occupy a four-bedroom farmhouse with a tenant house. The main house has been home to twelve families over 236 years; Schneider, Leinbach, Kemmerer, Hartman, McGiness, Cassel, Woodward, Gilmore, Muhs, Frederick, Herlant, and Miller. Assuming average households of five, roughly 60 people have lived there. The average residency was about 20 years, but the Millers now hold the record at 48 years (20%), just ahead of the builder Schneider at 41 (17%) and the barn builder Hartman at 34 (14%). The Muhses managed only 12 years (5%), and the Cassels (after whom the road was named) a mere six (3%).

The common thread: Property taxes are low, so there is little financial pressure on older owners to downsize; and they are often prisoners of all the multi-generational household contents with which they’re emotionally attached. This housing stock simply isn’t being released for young families the way it once was. A related and underappreciated dynamic is the shift from income taxes to property taxes (Texas being a prime example), which further burdens young buyers trying to get a foothold.

I’m old enough to remember my “Greatest/GI Generation” grandparents remarking on how hard it was for young couples in the ‘20s and ‘30s to buy a home, compared to what they then watched my parents’ “Silent Generation” and the younger “Baby Boomer” cohorts accomplish with low interest rates and ample new development in a booming postwar economy. Perhaps we’re back to the future. I lived through the inflation and oil shocks of the ‘70s when that all started to unravel, which makes today’s self-inflicted version all the more dispiriting.”

The phenomenon I describe is, admittedly, something of a champagne problem. But whether my anecdotally-based theory on constrained housing supply is economic hooey or not, it reminded me I had something on my to-do list: Finish a piece on the history of the house in which I spent my adolescence and my parents still reside, which I think reveals a great deal about history, economics, family, and home ... with some amazing coincidences along the way.

The Rabbit Hole
A few years ago, I finally got around to scanning in and really poring over the historical report by Past Perspectives www.past-perspectives.com that my parents had commissioned on their property back in August 2009. The most interesting parts are the summary text, the architectural documentation, and some annotated photos. In short, the unbroken Chain of Title to my parents’ property goes back 292 years to 1734, the main house was built 236 years ago in 1790, the tenant house 196 years ago in 1830, and the barn 136 years ago in 1890. It was pretty neat growing up in a historic house in a rural area, especially one settled by my ancestors, but I had no idea how interesting the background really was.

Jacob Stauber and the Boones
Local legend had it that the first titleholder to my parents’ property was the builder of a nearby log cabin Jacob Stauber (1688-1741), whose name is often rendered “Stover”, “Stauffer”, or “Stouffer”.

Jacob was most likely part of a Mennonite group who were forced to leave Switzerland and resettle in the Rhineland Palatinate. He sailed (with a first wife, who may have died on the trip over) from Rotterdam in April 1710, initially settling on the Hudson River as part of a tar production scheme. He then received 510-570 acres of land in Oley Township in 1711-1713 via an original William Penn land grant. As he could not read nor write, he made his mark on his deeds. In the middle of this land grant, Stauber built the log cabin circa 1713.

On 15 Mar 1714, Jacob Stauber married Sarah I. Boone (1691-1737) at Christ Episcopal Church in Philadelphia. She was daughter of George Boone III (1666-1744), brother of George Boone IV (1690-1753), and aunt of frontiersman Daniel Boone (1734-1820). Sarah Boone grew up Quaker, but did not adhere to Quaker practices in her marriage to Jacob Stauber, who was a “plain” Swiss Mennonite. It is reasonable to assume this caused something of a family rift.

George Boone IV, who had been sent to Pennsylvania in 1713 to “spy out the land”, had initially returned to England after the first trip to report back to his father, then returned to Pennsylvania to stay, and became a prominent surveyor and magistrate in Berks County. In October 1718, George Boone IV bought 400 acres along the Manatawny near Jacob Stauber’s tract for £4 per hundred acres, and fourteen shillings quit rent. “Quit rent” was a nominal annual fee paid by freehold landowners to the proprietor (such as William Penn or his heirs) in colonial Pennsylvania, substituting for feudal labor services or other obligations; it effectively “quit” the tenant from further duties while acknowledging the ultimate land grant authority. His father also purchased 400 acres of land near his son’s lands at the same price, and these two purchase prices were said to have been good valuations; Pennsylvania pounds to pounds sterling was 1:1 at the time, so £16 was about $3,800-5,000 in today’s money, and 14s. (0.7 pounds) or roughly $165-220 annually ... compare that to rural land prices today of $11-16,000 per acre.

Stauber had begun selling some of his Oley land in 1723, (including 50 acres which became my parents’ property and 1,500 acres to George Boone IV), and in 1729 he visited the Shenandoah Valley, Virginia, where he obtained two land grants on 5 Jun 1730. It is unknown exactly when Jacob moved to Virginia, but records indicate his land grants were 5,000 acres, with patents formally issued on 15 December 1733. Amazingly, he had made a trip back to London to secure additional land, and the plot really thickens:

“In 1729, Jacob decided to go to the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and was granted 10,000 acres if he would bring 100 persons to dwell in the colony. He was an enterprising man and made several trips to Switzerland in the interests of colonizing the new land. He also made efforts in England to secure immigrants. At one time, he failed to get the required number and in desperation gave names to his various farm animals to help fill his quota in reports to colonial authorities.” http://adkinshorton.net/histories/JacobStoverSr-Adkins-Event-Facts-(from%20Ralph%20Adkins).pdf

Stauber essentially became a land promoter. He actually sold George Boone IV two more tracts of 500 and 1,000 acres on a small branch of the Shenandoah, part of the 5,000 acres laid out for Stauber by the Virginia Council in June 1730.

Sarah likely moved to Virginia with him, and after she died in 1737, Jacob married a third time in 1738 to Margaret (as evidenced by a deed signature). There is some controversy as to whether she died in 1743 (after Jacob died in 1739) and then left Virginia, returned to Pennsylvania to live with her daughter Sarah Boone Stover Ellis, and was subsequently buried in the Exeter Friends Cemetery in an unmarked grave, but I strongly doubt this.

Jacob himself appears to have met a tragic fate, “shot by Indians” at age 52 in Orange County, Virginia on 14 Mar 1741. That was certainly not a rare occurrence https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/my-mothers-side-of-the-family .

Two fun facts emerge from the aforementioned link:

1) Jacob Stauber was President General Dwight D. Eisenhower’s great-great-great grandfather, via Sarah’s son Abraham Jacob Stover through his son Daniel Stover Sr. through his son Daniel Stover Jr. to his mother Ida’s father Simon Peter Stover.

2) George Boone IV married Deborah Howell, and they had a son William Boone, who married Sarah Lincoln. Her brother, John Lincoln, married Rebecca Moore, settled on Linville Creek, and was the great-grandfather of President Abraham Lincoln .

This all makes my parents’ property solidly part of the greater “Boone Country” of the Oley Valley north of the nearby Daniel Boone Homestead, which celebrates its 250th anniversary this year. Incidentally, Daniel Boone’s grandfather’s c. 1750 house and c. 1728 grist mill across the fields are still owned by relatives of ours https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mill_Tract_Farm .

The Stauber-Leinbach House
Page 11 of the aforementioned 2009 Past Perspectives historical study my parents commissioned anchors the unbroken “Chain of Title” with one “John Limebach [sic]” being issued a warrant (laying out the boundaries of the land upon which the purchaser had settled) for 50 acres of land to on 3 Jul 1734. That was followed by a survey (legally establishing the boundaries) being performed in August 1734, and a patent (official transfer from the “highest office” to the individual, in this case Absolute Proprietaries John “The American” Penn, Thomas Penn, and Richard Penn, the Governors in Chief of the Province of Pennsylvania) recorded in December 1747. A side note about something on which I’ve previously written https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/you-say-you-want-a-revolution : William Penn had a reputation for fair dealing with the Lenape Indians, but his sons John and Thomas became notorious for The Walking Purchase , one of the most audacious land grabs in North American history.

Anyway, that 50 acres would’ve clearly been a portion of Jacob Stauber’s Oley landholdings, and since the only building in that area was the log cabin, was likely the first place the new owner would occupy. Then I started searching for who “John Limebach” might’ve been ... and stumbled across this entry on a now-defunct web page : “The Oley Valley home of Johannes Leinbach (1674-1747) and his family was originally built by Jacob Stauber sometime between 1713 and 1723. The house was lost sometime after this photograph was taken between 1900 and 1925. Its exact location on the Leinbach homestead is unknown, but is believed to be somewhere on or near the present day Cassel Road.”

The Stauber-Leinbach House log cabin built c. 1713 off present-day Cassel Road; photo circa 1900-1925.

Wait a minute. When we moved to the property in 1978, there were vestigial elements of the hillside as a working meadow, plus a number of foundations for old outbuildings (two chicken coops, two for storage/smokehouses, a spring well I got up and running again, etc.). Similarly, over at the bottom of the southeast property line right up against Cassel Road was a stone foundation into which some old junk had been discarded. I remember stashing some rolls of old rusty metal sheep fence from the hill behind the barn in it. It remained overgrown into the mid-1980s before it was taken out when the 1978 seller (sadly) subdivided a portion he’d kept into four four-acre lots; I came back from college one weekend and the whole thing was gone. When I saw that photo, I immediately recognized that the foundation had been that of the original log cabin.

I really hadn’t become terribly interested in the more intricate aspects of family history until I started using some PC-based ancestry software around the time of the 2009 study (which would later allow me to write a series of articles on my ancestry:

I was was soon glad that I had embarked on this particular voyage of discovery almost two decades ago, as ”John Limebach” a.k.a. “Johannes Leinbach” turns out to have been my 1st cousin 9x removed Johannes Christoffel Lerch Leinbach Sr. (1674-1747) as his mother was Anna Barbara Loerch (1652-?), who was the sister of Anna Barbara Loerschen (1668-1719), who’s my 8th great-grandmother on my father’s side.

Born in Langenselbold Germany [not far from where I live today], Johannes “Christoffel” Leinbach Sr. had married Anna Elizabeth Kleiss (1680-1765) from the nearby village of Eidengesäß our near Büdingen in 1700, and a year into their marriage moved to Hochstadt along the Main toward Hanau. There, where all their children were born during their stay of about 22 years, they were “often inspired and visited by other pious people.” But in 1723, for reasons unknown, the 49-year-old school teacher and organist packed up his family, made the 400-mile, six week journey down the Rhein to Rotterdam, and left for America on the ship “Brother”.

Johannes and Elizabeth arrived in Philadelphia with their five children on September 11, 1723. Shortly thereafter, the family had settled on a 250-acre farm about two miles south of present-day Oley, Berks County, Pennsylvania. The homesite, on present-day Cassel Road, between Limekiln and Wiest School Roads, included a log-cabin house built by the previous owners (the Staubers) as early as 1713. They would end up having 10 children total, of whom seven survived into adulthood.

During these years in Oley, a close relationship developed between the Leinbach family and the Moravians. They were visited on a number of occasions by influential Moravians of the time, including August Spangenburg (1704-1792), wealthy patron Count Zinzendorf (1700-1760), and David “Der Bischof” Nitschmann (1695-1772), the latter of whom married Maria Barbara Kleiss Leinbach (1722-1810), the youngest Leinbach daughter.

Johannes Leinbach was appointed Vorsteher (business manager) of the Moravian congregation there in 1742 by Zinzendorf, the same year that the Moravian Church and School building was built in Oley. It was used by the Moravians as a school from 1742 until 1776. The building of half-timber construction was described as being “in dilapidated form” in 1908 and little remains of it today ex- a marker .

According to the records of the Moravian Church in Oley, Johannes died on November 20, 1747. He is believed to be buried in an unmarked cemetery at the site of the Moravian School. A graveyard “situated on a hill nearby” contains the graves of the congregation that are “unmarked, save by rude and partly sunken field stones, without inscription.”

The following year, Anna Elizabeth moved first to Bethlehem, and then later to Nazareth, Pennsylvania. That would have made sense; along with my paternal grandfather, father, and a passel of other relatives, I went to Lehigh University in Bethlehem, which is right across the river from the Moravian settlement.

“The Immense Family of Leinbachs”
So what was the initial connective tissue between the study and my genealogy software entries?

By the time of his death, Johannes Leinbach’s land holdings had increased to over 400 acres, they had built a new stone house, and he and Anna Elisabeth had a lot of kids, nine in all, five of whom survived, and most of whom had a variant of “Johann” in their name. But only one died in 1777, that was my 2nd cousin 8x removed Johann Heinrich “Henry” Heinrich Kleiss Leinbach (1705-1777). Also born in Langenselbold (as were a number of our ancestors), he was the oldest son, and would have been 25 when his father died, so was probably first in line to inherit the land.

The second Leinbach house, known today as the Leinbach-Knabb House, built c. 1735 across the fields from the original c. 1713 log cabin on Cassel Road; photos taken by the author in 2021.

Page 13 of the aforementioned 2009 Past Perspectives historical study my parents commissioned describes the estate papers of “Henry Leinbach”, including an original 1777 estate inventory listing forty items (furniture, textiles, kitchenware, bible, farm grains) plus some outstanding animal and other assets totaling (in Pennsylvania pounds) £547 3s. 11d.; that’s around $150-200,000 in today’s money, but likely only represents personal property and accounts receivable ex- land.

Henry Leinbach Estate Inventory showing (in Pennsylvania pounds) £547, 3s. 11d.

Henry 1705 himself had 10 kids, including sons (my 3rd cousins 7x removed) Revolutionary officer Cpt. Daniel Leinbach (1746-1810), Pvt. Henry (1752-1832), Christian (1757-?) and John (1759-1784). Henry 1705 must’ve been pretty spry, given that son number four was born when he was 54. Best I can tell, son Pvt. Henry 1752 relocated to Northumberland County, and Christian 1757 and John 1759 appear to have been childless.

Page 14 says that an Orphan’s Court petition paper dated 11 Mar 1780 concerns a petition of “Daniel Leinbach” as eldest son and heir stating that Henry 1705 had died intestate in direct possession of 200 acres of land, plus another Alsace Township tract with 230 acres, for a total of 430 acres. Cpt. Daniel 1746 appears to have been a good son, as he humbly requested the court to partition the property amongst the seven remaining siblings without prejudice nor despoiling the whole of the property. Cpt. Daniel 1746 himself had 21 (!) children with three wives, the last child of which was born when he was 67. By 1777, he had already had three with wife number one Catherine Graul (Abt. 1750-1783), then would have three more with her for a total of six, then two with Catherine Hoffman (1763-1789), then 13 (!) with Mary Magdalene Hartman (1769-1837). The 230 acre tract was said to be adjoined by those of Valentine Hartman (1738-1794), who was from Ilbesheim in the Rheinland-Palatinate, and his father-in-law via his third wife. Cpt. Daniel died at 71 and is buried up at Zion Spies Church Cemetery ... cause of death probably exhaustion.

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/47628554/johan_daniel-leinbach

Page 8 of the Chain of Title mentions an indenture dated 14 Mar 1786 stating that, by indenture dated June 1780, 86+ acres were confirmed to one “John Leinbach”, and thus it is known for sure that the original “Henry Leinbach” owned the land in question encompassing my parents’ plot.

By the way, Henry Leinbach 1705 had four more siblings (again, my 2nd cousins 8x removed) who lived into adulthood, including brothers Johann Friedrich Kliess Leinbach Sr. (1703-1784) who later moved to Maryland and fathered 17 (!) children, and Johannes Heinrich Leinbach Jr. (1712-1766), who fathered nine children and spent the last 10 months of his life with relatives in North Carolina.

The fecundity of the Leinbachs can be seen in some hilarious genealogical notes one finds online: One entry for Friederic Leinbach 1703’s wife Amelia Elizabeth “Millie” Frey (1719-1758):

“Amelia was baptized by Count Zinzendorf (then a bishop), at Germantown, Philad., May 6,1742--nearly five years after her marriage--thereby becoming related to the Moravian Church. She was the mother of seventeen children, as will appear in place. With nine sons she contributed her share to creating what has been called “the immense family of Leinbachs” of Penna., N. Car. and other localities.” https://www.geni.com/people/Amelia-Leinbach/6000000002188304695

“Immense family of Leinbachs”, indeed!

The Homestead of Jacob Schneider 1890-1827; 41 years (17%)
So after 52 years of Leinbachs living there, one “John Leinbach” sold the plot in 1786. The buyer was Jacob Schneider, and when the transfer for £800 occurred in March 1786, it was an 86 acre 26 perch tract; that’d be around $250-300,000 in today’s money.

It is a bit of a grey area whether the exact seller was Cpt. John Daniel Leinbach or his younger brother Johannes John Leinbach (1759-1784), but since the latter died in 1784, it was probably his land after death (the Indenture mentions a wife “Maria” I can’t confirm). Since Cpt. Daniel had three sons who also went by “John” born in 1778, 1780, and 1783, the land could’ve even been in one of their names. I sort of lost the will to live figuring out how to dot that particular “i” and cross that particular “t” … close enough for rock ‘n’ roll.

Interestingly, one of the neighboring plots was listed as owned by “Daniel Leinbach”, who I am certain was Cpt. Daniel. Another was shown as owned by one “Daniel Hoch”. Well, Cpt. Daniel’s son Abraham Leinbach (1787-1862) was eventually married to Sarah Hoch (1792-1851), who was the daughter of Pvt. Samuel Hoch (1757-1826), whose father was indeed Daniel Hoch (1731-1789), and whose mother Maria Bertolet (1736-1802) was part of the Bertolet/DeTurk line ... she pops up on my software as my “half 1st cousin 3x removed of wife of 3rd great grandfather”, whatever the heck that means, outside of ancestry software showing off a bit.

Jacob Schneider then went on to build the main house by 1790. It is a true bank house which allowed on-grade cellar entry and the inclusion of a of a kitchen. Its general configuration is a German three-room house with off-center chimney, with a Küche, a Stübe, and a Kammer (Kich, Schtupp, and Kammer in Pennsvlvania Dutch). It would have been considered a medium-sized house by the standards of the time.

The main house built 236 years ago in 1790 by Jacob Schneider, who owned the property 1786-1827.

Back to the Leinbachs 1827-1857; 31 years (13%)
In an indenture dated 9 Feb 1827, the executor of Jacob Schneider’s will John Babb transferred 65 acres and 67 perches to “Abraham Leinbach”, who I am certain is Cpt. Daniel’s son Abraham Leinbach (1787-1862), my 4th cousin 6x removed, who would’ve been 40 at the time. So back in the family! The Babbs were also shown as neighboring property owners, as were Daniel Leinbach, Ester Hoch, Nicholas Jaeger, and Abraham Hoch, so things were still staying in the extended family. It sold for $1,373.80, which would be around $50-55,000 today; the 1830s saw a bout of deflation as Andrew Jackson’s destabilizing of the money supply, followed by Nelson Biddle’s credit retraction, culminated in the Panic of 1837. Plus the plot was about 25% smaller.

Abraham Leinbach then went on to build the tenant house in 1830. It was most likely built as a summer kitchen, likely with an adjacent smokehouse, springhouse, washhouse or bake-oven.

The tenant house built 196 years ago in 1830 by Abraham Leinbach, who owned the property 1827-1858.

The Kemmerers 1858-1884; 26 years (11%)
On 30 Apr 1858, four years before his death, Abraham Leinbach sold 54 acres and 131 perches (roughly 55 acres) to David Kemmerer for $3,195.93, which would be around $115,000-120,000 in today’s money for a plot that was about 15-20% smaller.

The Hartmans 1884-1918; 34 years (14%)
On 30 May 1884, Henry and Daniel Kemmerer transferred 54 acres and 131 perches to Joseph V. Kendall for the consideration of $1, which was likely a family transfer, settling a debt, or some sort of straw man arrangement. Indeed, only a few months later on 12 Dec 1884, Joseph V. Kendall transferred the 54 acres and 131 perches to Jeremiah Hartman for $4,000, which is $130-135,000 in today’s money.

Jeremiah Hartman went on to build the closed standard Pennsylvania fore-bay bank barn circa 1890. The wagon floors have 12-inch planks, and the posts and beams had marriage/carpenter marks unusual for post-1850 construction.

The barn built 136 years ago in 1890 by Jeremiah Hartman, who owned the property 1884-1918.

Big snow, 1978

The McGinesses 1918-1926; 7 years (3%)
On 29 Apr 1918, Seth and Peter Hartman transferred the 54 acres 131 perches to Clyde McGuiness for $2,000, which would be around $40-45,000 today; the turbulent 1910s after the Panic of 1907, as well as WWI inflation, must’ve taken their toll. The McGinesses appear to have been in yarn, had a pretty extensive investment portfolio, a rowhouse at 1410 N 6th Street in Reading, and they owned some Florida real estate in Bartow and Ybor City, which I can’t imagine fared very well over time. However, their investment portfolio by 1944 appears to have done quite well, as it was worth $175,369, which inflates to around $3.3 million in today’s money. Their largest four single stock holdings were Atlantic Coast Fisheries, Rhode Island Insurance, Crosley Corp., and Farnsworth Television & Radio.

The Cassels 1926-1932; 6 years (3%)
On 16 Mar 1926, Clyde and his wife Carrie McGiness sold the 54 acre 131 perch property to Joseph Cassel for $5,000, which is around $88,000 in today’s money. The Cassels owned a chain of 42 mostly mom-and-pop grocery stores all over Berks County, and the road (which remained dirt until the 1990s) was either named after them, or they named it after themselves. In January 1929, their stores and fixtures were appraised at $109,040, which is around $2.1 million in today’s money.

The Woodwards 1932-1944; 12 years (5%)
On 15 Aug 1932, Howard Rentz, Amos Cassel, and the Berks County Trust Company Successor to Colonial Trust as executors of Joseph Cassel’s last will and testament transferred the still 54 acre 131 perches property to Reginald E. Woodward for $6,500, which is $143,000 in today’s money. This was during the depths of The Great Depression . The Woodwards owned a lot of rare coins, $15,000 (about $160,000 today) in Treasury Notes, a ’54 Mercury, a ’59 Ford, a Willys station wagon, and 15(!) pistols.

The Gilmores 1945-1949; 4 years (1%)
On 15 Aug 1944, Reginald E. Woodward and his wife Catherine transferred the 54 acres 131 perches to what appears to be another straw man buyer, Dora De Turck, for consideration of $1. A bit over a year later on 26 Sep 1945, right after the end of WWII, Dora and her husband Raymond De Turck did another $1 transfer to Charles W. Gilmore and his wife Lovell. I noticed that Marcel L. Fox appears as a neighboring landowner; he and his wife Katie were still living there when we moved in in the farm now owned by the Browns. Benjamin and Raymond Leinbach were listed as well.

The Muhses 1949-1961; 12 years (5%)
I can only assume that the Gilmores lived there for the next three-and-a-bit years or the place sat vacant before another indenture on 15 Mar 1949 transferred somewhere between 51-55 acres to Elmer A. Muhs and his wife Marie for an undisclosed amount.

We always thought this was a kitchen door showing previous owners’ initials, but recently learned it was carved by Elmer Muhs’ college fraternity brothers one evening 1949-1961; photo by the author, 2026.

The Fredericks 1961-1976; 15 years (7%)
On 25 May 1961, Marie Muhs transferred 51 acres 3.42 perches to Rodney and Marion Frederick for consideration of $1. Benjamin and Raymond Leinbach were still listed as neighboring landowners.

The Herlants 1976-1978; 2 years (1%)
Around 15 years later on 20 Sep 1976, the Fredericks subdivided around nine acres to build a house down by Friedensburg Road, and sold the remaining 43 acres with buildings to Michael A. Herlant. Marcel L. Fox was still a neighboring landowner, as were Rodney and Marion Frederick, but The Leinbachs had sold to Robert and Gail Sittler, who 10-15 years later would place a housing development on what had become the primary Leinbach homestead.

The Millers 1978-present; 48 years (20%)
Herlant subdivided 16 acres of farmland and on 28 Oct 1978 sold the remainder to my parents. My parents subsequently subdivided a portion of field and woodland and sold to a neighbor, leaving them with the buildings on the central remainder. None of us had any idea that the original ownership of the property had passed to a relative 244 years before.

Summary
One way to look at things is that the plot shrank 85% from 86 acres in 1786 to today, but it still maintains a lot of the original look-and-feel as the neighboring plots have remained reasonably spread out. On a financial basis, my parents appear to have enjoyed roughly 4.5% nominal return over 48 years, so not too shabby. I have always thought we don’t pay enough attention to long time series when it comes to investment, a topic on which I’ve written a bit:

Historical economics exercises underscore the conclusion of one of my favorite new York Times Articles, “This Very, Very, Old House” written in March 2006 about an unbroken title chain for a property in Amsterdam:

“But what does “up” mean? The most surprising thing about Eichholtz’s study is that it contradicts a maxim of the real-estate profession. “There is a myth which says that real-estate values go up significantly over time, and that this is especially true for central city locations,” Eichholtz said. “When I began to study the Herengracht, I didn’t know what I would find, but the data ended up challenging that myth.”

That is to say, where everyone from your wise old uncle to the broker who sold you your house holds it as gospel that real estate is one of the best long-term investments, this longest of long-term indices suggests that, on the contrary, it sort of stinks. Between 1628 and 1973 (the period of Eichholtz’s original study), real property values on the Herengracht — adjusted for inflation — went up a mere 0.2 percent per year, worse than the stingiest bank savings account. As Shiller wrote in his analysis of the Herengracht index, “Real home prices did roughly double, but took nearly 350 years to do so.”

The house that Pieter Fransz built is a case in point. In 1855, an estate agent named Robertus van Zoelen bought the house for 6,850 guilders. In 1881, his children sold it to a carpenter, Johann Diederich Brinkmann, for 12,100 guilders — an increase of 93 percent in real terms. But when Brinkmann sold it in 1888, it was for 10,000 guilders: a net loss. The next sale, in 1899, at 9,600 guilders, was also at a loss. Fifteen years later, with World War I looming, a real-estate agent named Georges Jean Josef Salen bought it for 10,000 guilders: again, a loss in real terms. And when, in 1955, a woman named Grietje Uitentuis bought the house, the 15,000 guilders she paid was, after adjusting for inflation, less than what the house sold for in 1855. Over the course of a century, Pieter Fransz’s house actually lost 30 percent of its value.

This sort of thing isn’t surprising to Shiller, who says he believes that the notion that real estate is a terrific investment comes in part from the long-term nature of most purchases. You know that your grandmother paid $15,000 for her house in 1951, and it’s now worth $250,000. That sounds grand, but most of the increase is simply matching inflation. An analysis Shiller made of home prices in the U.S. going back to 1890 showed an average annual increase of a meager 0.4 percent. By way of contrast, Jeremy J. Siegel of the Wharton School of Business has calculated that over a 200-year period, the stock market had an average annual real rate of return of 6.8 percent. It’s only in recent years, Shiller says, that huge increases in real-estate prices have become the norm and that people have come to expect them.

It’s worth noting, however, that rocketing prices aren’t everything. The word “value” has many meanings. Buying a home gets you tax deductions that you wouldn’t get from renting. And no economic analysis can diminish the other kind of value that comes with homeownership: the fuzzy kind, the sense of place and rootedness.

To go back to the impetus for writing all this, the main house has been home to twelve families over 236 years: Schneider 41 (17%), Leinbach 31 (13%), Kemmerer 26 (11%), Hartman 34 (14%), McGiness seven (3%), Cassel six (3%), Woodward 12 (5%), Gilmore 4 (1%), Muhs 12 (5%), Frederick 15 (7%), Herlant two (1%), and Miller 48 (20%).

Assuming average households of five, roughly 60 people have lived there. The average residency was about 20 years, but my parents now hold the record for continual occupancy. Since I went away to college at age 18 and only lived there during school summers and vacations, and since only back for visits, I only lived there continuously for about five years. It felt like more, as so much happened there during my adolescence:

Back on New Year’s Eve 2023, I wrote the following re: our perception of time:

“Every New Year’s Eve I think about our perception of time. Back home in my parents’ 1890 barn (the tenant house is 1830 and the main house is 1790, so 133, 193, and 233 years old, respectively ... my parents are now the longest continuous occupants. There’s an old decorative front license plate (Pennsylvania only requires a real plate, so people hang all sorts of stuff off the front bumper) “Shartlesville PA Dutch Bi-Centennial 1765-1965” which is as old as I am.

Those “Bicentennial State ‘76” plates with the Liberty Bell in the middle were issued ten years later, and I recall feeling that 200 years prior might as well have been as remote as the Middle Ages, ancient Rome, or the Pyramids.

A calendar reminder just popped up to have my ‘53 Land Rover inspected this coming week, and I noticed that it will turn 70 on Friday; a 70-year-old vehicle when I was born would’ve been the first series-produced car ever made.

Our German house is 67 years old. Then I was walking the dogs again, and saw a Fastnacht (Carnival) parade float on a farm wagon showing one of the clubs in Eschbach was 50 years old last year; 1971 feels more recent than a half-century ago.

My high school class of 1983 is planning a 40th reunion next year, and it suddenly struck me that 1983 was closer to the end of WWII (38 years) than it is to today (39).

Then I walked by the Dornbach, part of the extended waters of the “Frankfurt Fishing Club 1875” of which I’m a member, which will be 150 two years from now.

Then I walked by the local tennis club and saw that it was founded in 1846; its bicentennial will be in 23 years.

One of the local parks where I walk the dogs is 400 years old:

I live in a town founded 841 years ago in 1182, and my wife’s home village (where her parents’ place recently turned 100 was founded 964 years ago in 1059 ... it will celebrate its 1,000th (millenary) only 36 years from now.

I saw a concert poster today:

Bruce Springsteen has been performing for 59 years, Tori Amos for 44, Depeche Mode for 43, Michael Bublé for 29, OneRepublic for 21, and Harry Styles for 13. The 2023 tour schedule is looking positively fossiliferous! The Beatles toured for six years, and when Beethoven was my age he’d already been dead for 23 years.

This isn’t meant to be a moan about getting old; it’s more an observation on how we compartmentalize time and assume that people either thought and lived radically differently than we do today (as L.P. Hartley once wrote, “[t]he past is a foreign country: they do things differently there”) or very much as we do today ... I’d bet the answer’s somewhere in-between.

There’s a saying the British use: “In America 100 miles is a short distance, but 100 years is a long time, whereas in Europe 100 miles is a long distance and 100 years is a short time.” Indeed. Happy New Year.”

An Afterword on Ancestry perfectionism, Blind Alleys, and Link Rot
As I put this piece together, I jotted down some thoughts I feel compelled to share:

1) If you’re at all interested in family history and genealogy, get yourself some cheap software and just start hacking stuff in. I use something called “Family Tree Maker” , but eschew expensive subscription services and others who purport to do this research for you. One pretty much has to build one’s family tree the way an oyster forms a pearl, one layer at a time. One could argue that setting foundations that allowed me to make the family connections has been in process for 15-20 years. Also, if you have living grand- and great-grandparents, sit down and have a long rambling chat over old photos to form the skeleton of your family tree. Nicknames, house locations, and general family lore are invaluable. This year I’m writing a piece on all eight of my great-grandparents and publishing them on their birthdays; this is the first one in the series:

2) As with any hobby or avocation, there are purists (in the classic Land Rover community they’re called “rivet counters”), who have what I view to be overly strict standards on what constitutes genealogical research. I think a “quantity over quality” approach is much better than obsessing over documenting every single person above and beyond some reasonableness tests and multiple sourcing. You can always go back and edit that approximate marriage date, but don’t get bogged down with perfectionism paralysis.

3) That said, beware of blind alleys! A photo on a family ancestry website was captioned “Possibly the School House”. Nope. That’s a farmhouse that was hit by a freak tornado soon after my family moved in in the late 1970s (unimaginatively dubbed “The Tornado House”) down Wiest School Road from the old public one-room school house (which still stands and is now a private home). The family used the insurance money to build a new rancher across the street, and left this ruin derelict, but it’s less than 50 years old. Always chat with the locals on your genealogy field trips.

4) The Mormon Church digitized millions of records using 1950s tabulators (if I’m not mistaken, they were the second customer for IBM punch card mainframes right behind the Pentagon), which fueled their FamilySearch (and a lot of Ancestry.com) but propagated old errors.

5) The good part about German naming conventions: Mother’s maiden names as middle names. That should be a law. The bad part: Everyone’s Johannes or Maria Magdalena., and these often baptismal names are frequently different than everyday names.

6) At the time of this writing, the very link that kicked off this particular voyage of discovery rotted away before I could save a PDF version. Although the Internet Archive Wayback Machine came through with cached copy, that was sheer luck. If you see something key, always make a PDF for yourself .

Updated 7 Jun 2026

On one of my trips back home to Pennsylvania last year, I was pawing through some of my old high school papers, and (amongst some other ones https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/ye-olde-memes ) and found the submission a team of us made to the 1982 Western Electric Engineering Fair https://1drv.ms/b/c/5ed4c22a9f7768df/IQDfaHefKsLUIIBeEmQDAAAAARLt-wn2gZzCAQ19KLvO7o8?e=p2w3eI.

The Challenge
In the fall of 1981, a group of us Oley Valley High School students — Dan Haas, Scott Reider, Mark Miller, Larry Valariano, Bill Krapf, Doug Schneider, and myself (Scott and Bill would later become Chi Phi fraternity brothers at Lehigh) — were invited to Western Electric’s Student Engineering Fair and set ourselves an ambitious challenge: Design and build, from scratch, a computer-controlled switching interface capable of operating real electrical equipment. Rather than just describe the concept, we committed to building a working model.

People forget how big Western Electric https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Electric and Bell Labs https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bell_Labs were in Eastern Pennsylvania and Northern New Jersey. It was legendary, a status captured by this recent substack piece, as well as by Douglas “Generation X” Coupland https://www.wired.com/2014/09/coupland-bell-labs/ .

Synthetic Wisdom

The Rise and Fall of Bell Labs: How the U.S. Lost Its Telecom R&D Crown

By Synthetic Wisdom…

Read more

2 years ago · 9 likes · Tim McDonald

Berks County was amongst the first places in the country to have Touch-Tone https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DTMF_signaling . It seemed as though practically everyone had a parent or relative working there, and, sadly, a lot of them had much of their retirement savings eventually evaporate when Lucent stock went to zero https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucent_Technologies . But that was still almost a decade off., and “Ma Bell” was still firmly in charge of things.

The Computer
We chose the Apple II+ (stylized “][“ at the time) as our platform. Our small rural high school was actually pretty progressive when it came to putting computing power in the hands of students. We had a punch card-fed Litton Monroe 1860 (based on a Compucorp design) https://www.oldcalculatormuseum.com/d-compucorp.html . A number of us also had generous parents who bought us Texas Instruments TI-58C programmable calculators https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TI-59_/_TI-58 ; those were $300 at the time, which inflates to $1,040 in today’s money. But it was the Apple II+ that changed everything.

An Apple ][ Plus of exactly the sort used in the project. This photo taken by the author 22 Oct 2017 at the radio and electronics museum in Hessenpark https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Funktechnisches_Museum_im_Hessenpark .

Those units had an instantaneous and much broader appeal. Kids used to come in before school started just to get some computer lab time. Sometimes it was laboriously manually pecking in programs from computer magazines and saving them on cassette tapes. Other times it was using the audio card to play complicated orchestral pieces. And sometimes it was just goofing around trying to see what these things could do (I recall the school could afford about four of them).

A friend of ours’ father had an Apple-focused computer store over in West Reading, and a few times a gaggle of us snuck in on a Sunday to use the machines, tape drives, and printers. We were finally caught red-handed, and I’m not certain whether he was angry or glad to see us getting into what I might call “productive mischief”.

The Design
Rather than using expensive peripheral cards, we discovered a clever backdoor: The Apple’s game controller I/O port had four software-controllable annunciator outputs that could be toggled with simple PEEK and POKE commands in Applesoft BASIC. We designed and built a relay driver circuit around 2N2219 NPN transistors and 1N914 switching diodes to buffer the tiny TTL signal from the annunciators and trigger six-volt relay switches.

To demonstrate the interface’s capabilities, we built “Apatron,” a sheet-metal robot with three independently controlled motors (left drive, right drive, and arms), tethered to the Apple via a rainbow ribbon cable. The software included a master menu, a direct keyboard control mode, and a programmable indirect mode that let users record and replay movement sequences to disk.

Side note: When I first saw South Park’s “A.W.E.S.O.M.-O” episode, I did a spit take because it took me right back to “Apatron”:

We won first place and a $600 grant for Oley Valley High School, which inflates to $2,079 in today’s money. The project cost was $147, which is $509 in today’s money. The biggest single line item was for the super-fine motor relays that could be triggered off the game port DIP plugs:

The Trust Exercise
It was already a pretty big deal that the school trusted us to start plugging homebrew electronics into $3,000 ($10,025 today) taxpayer-funded Apple computers. But then Western Electric asked us if we’d like to set it up at the Reading Museum for the entire summer as part of a technology exhibit. This would involve the school computer being used continuously for months, with the monitor showing the code lines as the commands were being executed. One funny part of this was that the robot ran on a tabletop, and essentially just went forward, waved its arms around, played some sounds through the speaker mouth holes, and moved back to the starting point. But over the course of the day slight differences in the motor-driven wheels would compound and it would fall off the table! We ended up building some rails, and it spent the whole summer delighting children.

I think those moments when adults trust adolescents are underrated moments in educational development. They could’ve just as easily said “too risky”. But they didn’t. I never forgot that.

The “Oh Wow” Moments 44 Years Later
The hindsight here is genuinely striking. What a group of rural high school students built in 1982 was, in essence, a home automation controller ... and we knew it. The “Alternative Applications” section of the report lists computer-controlled home heating and cooling, lighting, security cameras, intercom switching, and time-lapse photography. That’s basically a 1982 paper describing what Nest, Ring, Lutron, and SmartThings would commercialize 25–30 years later, built by teenagers with $147 ($509 in today’s money) in parts from Radio Shack and Hain’s Hobby.

The architecture we devised, a microcomputer sending software signals to a relay-switching interface that operates real-world devices, is identical in concept to what a Raspberry Pi running Home Assistant does today, or what an Arduino does when controlling motors. The vocabulary changed (GPIO pins instead of annunciator outputs; MQTT instead of PEEK/POKE), but the fundamental topology is the same.

The robot itself anticipated the modern maker/hobbyist robotics movement by about 20 years. The direct and indirect control modes, one for real-time operation, one for recording and playing back scripted sequences, map cleanly onto what we’d now call teleoperation and autonomous waypoint execution.

Perhaps most poignant: We wrote in the summary that we believed we were “among the first to build such a device for a home microcomputer,” and we probably weren’t wrong. The home computer was barely five years old. The idea that a $3,000 school computer could reach out and physically move objects in the world, that the boundary between software and the physical environment could be dissolved by a handful of transistors and a clever POKE command, was genuinely radical in 1982. Today we call that the Internet of Things, and it’s a trillion-dollar industry.

Not bad for a $147 rural high school project.

Note that this Reading Eagle/Times article misspelling my last name is yet another proof of Knoll’s Law of Media Accuracy https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erwin_Knoll : “Everything you read in the newspapers is absolutely true except for the rare story of which you happen to have firsthand knowledge.”

I have a Spotify playlist I’ve unimaginatively called “Easter Music”:

There’s 18 hours and 39 minutes worth of music on it, which I usually play one selection at a time rather than on shuffle as I do most playlists to maintain the narratives of the originals.*

I was mucking the paddock yesterday (as one does) and heard something that had me rewind few times: The version of Bach’s St. Matthew’s Passion I have features mezzo-soprano Anne Sophie von Otter https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Sofie_von_Otter , and there’s something about Part 2. No. 52 Aria (an alto part, no less) “Können Tänen meiner Wangen” (”If the tears upon my cheeks can”) that really struck me, especially with all the completely unnecessary trouble in the world going on right now:

It’s also one where the German really punches through; even the term “Opferschale” is doing enormous work, as it’s one compound word that English needs four words to clunkily render as “sacrificial offering bowl/cup”.

Können Tränen meiner Wangen
Nichts erlangen,
O, so nehmt mein Herz hinein!
Aber laflt es bei den Fluten,
Wenn die Wunden milde bluten,
Auch die Opferschale sein!

If the tears upon my cheeks can
Nought accomplish,
Oh, then take my heart away!
But then let amidst the streaming
Of the wounds abundant bleeding
Be the sacrificial cup!

Source translation https://www.gbt.org/music/St_Matthew_text.pdf

The text moves from petition (”let my tears accomplish something”) to surrender (”fine ... take my heart instead”) to something stranger and more unsettling: “Let my heart become the sacrificial cup that catches the blood from the wounds.” It’s not comfort-seeking. It’s an offer to participate in the suffering. That’s a very different emotional register from most religious devotional music. The aria sits right at the intersection to which the St. Matthew Passion keeps returning: What do you do with grief that has no practical outlet? The answer it offers isn’t resolution. It’s transformation of the grief itself into something useful ... the cup that receives. That’s not a comfortable answer, but it’s an honest one.

No. 52 comes immediately after the moment of greatest violence and humiliation in the narrative: The flogging, the crown of thorns, the mockery. The drama has just reached a kind of unbearable pitch. And Bach does something structurally very deliberate by stopping the narrative completely and giving the listener a chance to respond. Most devotional responses to suffering stay in the register of lamentation or comfort-seeking. This text refuses both. It says “your grief is real but insufficient, so transform it into receptivity, into being the vessel that holds rather than the voice that mourns”.

Pip Coburn has long advocated something called “magisterial inactivity” in investing https://open.substack.com/pub/gunnarmiller/p/magisterial-inactivity , a point underscored by some fortune cookies handed out as snacks at his recent Amsterdam gathering …

… quoting Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hahn https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Th%C3%ADch_Nh%E1%BA%A5t_H%E1%BA%A1nh : “Don’t just do something, sit there”. That’s exactly what Bach is saying, with the implication that one should just sit there in a particular way ... with yourself offered up and open rather than closed and grieving.

“Reactive doing” in the face of things you cannot control, makes things worse. The harder and more useful discipline is to become a vessel, open, still, receptive, rather than an agent thrashing around generating what Pip precisely calls “doing relief.” What most people demanding “rise up, do something” are actually seeking is relief from the unbearable feeling of helplessness. It’s not primarily about effectiveness. Bach, Thich Nhat Hanh, and Pip Coburn are all pointing at the same uncomfortable truth: That impulse is understandable, deeply human, and usually counterproductive. The Opferschale doesn’t chase the blood. It doesn’t agitate. It sits open and receives what comes. That’s not weakness or “quietism”, because it’s the most demanding posture of all, as it requires one to tolerate the helplessness without deflecting it into noise.

I am not religious at all, but there are moments when one truly understands why this art still resonates 300 years later https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Matthew_Passion .

*That reminds me of something really funny that stuck with me for which I can’t remember the source; a bunch of grandkids heard that their grandfather was going to take a long journey on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, and before he left gave him an iPod with the complete “Harry Potter” audiobooks narrated by Stephen Fry on them. When he returned, they asked how he’d liked the books, and he said “it was okay, but I found it really hard to follow the narrative” ... they subsequently discovered he’d accidentally set the play mode to shuffle!

I started using VisiCalc https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VisiCalc on an IBM PC in the mid-1980s at Lehigh. When I arrived on Wall Street, Lotus 1-2-3 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lotus_1-2-3 and Lotus Symphony were standard. Since General Electric bought Kidder Peabody, they tried to force everyone to use Computer Associates SuperCalc 5 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SuperCalc due to some sketchy security concern, but people kept surreptitiously using Lotus.

When I started working with a semiconductor analyst Kidder had hired from Prudential Bache who’d insisted on being equipped with Windows PCs, I began using Excel, and became quite adept at it. I often tell my kids, if it weren’t for the electronic spreadsheet, I’d likely be pushing a broom. We’ll all likely eventually forget how to use Word and other “desktop publishing” applications, but nearly half a century later, Excel remains a “killer app”.

I believe I might have inadvertently invented the industry standard of having financial statements run left-to-right, Q1-Q4 then year, percentage q-q and y-y and percentage of revenues tucked directly under the numbers, and landscape. Before that, the time order was reversed, and percentage comparisons were usually on an entirely separate page.

I believe that spreadsheets are indispensable for household purposes, especially as they outlive specialized software packages. I still actively have some spreadsheets I started 35 years ago and have been using continuously ever since. I recently used Anthropic Claude to refresh myself on some advanced skills, and saved myself a bunch of tax prep expense

.

Here’s a quick summary in alphabetical order. I’d be pleased to share any of the templates with you if you’d like.

Auto Service – This has saved me thousands of currency units and maintenance headaches. I keep a chronological record from date of purchase through disposal/trade-in of the vehicle with a running total. Now that most of my vehicles are off warranty, I use it to track mileage since last service, milage since last tire change, next TÜV date, and as a handy place to keep VIN, HSN, TSN, etc., plus oil grades, tire dimensions, etc.

Barometers – I have written about my barometer collection previously https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/stormy-fair-and-everywhere , and this is one I’ve really enjoyed updating as I add to my collection. In fact, spreadsheets are great ways to keep track of all collectables; I also have Cigars, Flies and Spin Lures, Munitions, and other specialized spreadsheets such that I don’t forget things. OneDrive mobile access has made these really useful when out and about.

Equipment – Similar to Autos, but expanded to electronics, white goods, garden power equipment, etc.. This should include model and serial numbers, as well as links to manual PDFs that allow you to recycle the paper ones and reduce clutter.

Estate – This is likely the most important one. It includes a cover sheet with key passwords one prints out in case you blow a pipe and leave ones heirs and assigns to sort everything out. It should then list assets, liabilities, pensions, etc. in summary fashion with contact emails and telephone numbers.

Frequencies – A handy reference guide to radio frequency and band allocations.

Home Improvements – Tracks receipts, materials, and vendors for major household projects. Comes in really handy at tax time.

Insurance – Track home and auto insurance in one place. Useful to track increases and decreases over time. This is also a greaplace to park policy numbers and agent contact information. I also have a tab for annual car registration tax.

Investment diary – I have used intuit Quicken since 1993, but I still keep a separate chronological spreadsheet, including stocks and funds I didn’t buy or sell and why. One “pro tip”: If you use a licensed version of Microsoft 365, you can also use STOCKHISTORY(X***:****) to pull in Thompson Reuters Refinitiv quotes, and set up two pulls from a ticker column and date column =INDEX(STOCKHISTORY(C5;G5;G5;0);2;2) and it’ll automate pricing. If you leave the output cell “General”, it will even put in the correct currency symbol. If you use some date math =DATEDIF(E5;G5;”M”)/12 to calculate how long you’ve held the investment, you can also calculate CAGR using =(H5/F5)^(1/J5)-1 .

Land Rover Contacts – I keep a database of people and vehicles, including an analysis of all the trucks in the same Royal Air Force contract as the 1953 Series 1 80” I drive https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/looking-after-the-elderly :

Quotations – My oldest spreadsheet. When I head a good quote, I enter it for later use. I’m now up to 480 lines:

Subscriptions – Track all those media and software, memberships, charitable donations, licenses and permits. It’s eye-opening, especially to annualize monthlies, and the other way ‘round. Once a time series forms, it also shows how we’re slowly being squeezed:

Taxes – I use a big organizational spreadsheet to double-check as I enter things into my accountants’ organizers.

Utilities – Each year I record gas, water, and electric usage and payments from the annual statements. This has proven very useful to protect against the capriciousness of human memory:

Writing Prompts – I use this to jot down article ideas, then I paste in the Substack (and Facebook and LinkedIn) URLs and grey them out ... as I’ll now do with this topic.

P.S. I also track Substack subscribers and followers, which is sort of depressing:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tower_of_Babel_(Bruegel)

When did ‘Due Diligence’ become a Google search, and why are we firing ‘God-like’ managers for market sell-offs they can’t control? A mini-manifesto (screed?) on why confusing a smashed car with a leaky tank is the most expensive linguistic error in finance.

One of my pet peeves that’s developed over the past few years is people starting to use “due diligence” for “investment research”. “Due diligence” is a high-stakes, legal obligation born from the Securities Act of 1933; it was the “Due Diligence Defense” for underwriters who had total, unhindered access to non-public, material inside information (the bank statements, the customer contracts, and the skeletons in the C-suite’s closets) to ensure the public wasn’t being swindled. For a modern retail trader to claim they are “doing their DD” by looking at a colorful chart and a few public research reports isn’t just a misuse of language; it’s a category error that confuses a fiduciary audit of private reality with a subjective opinion on public data.

I’ve now developed another one: “Drawdown” for “sell-off”. It came to a boil today when I read this article called “Even God would get fired as an Active Investor” https://alphaarchitect.com/even-god-would-get-fired-as-an-active-investor/ :

“Perfect foresight has great returns, but gut-wrenching drawdowns. In other words, an active investor who was clairvoyant (i.e. “God”), and knew ahead of time exactly which stocks were going to be long-term winners and long-term losers, would likely get fired many times over if they were managing other people’s money.

Question: If God is omnipotent, could He create a long-term active investment strategy fund that was so good that He could never get fired?

The article does come to a valid conclusion:

“The relative performance of God’s hedge fund is often abysmal and he’d surely make the cover of Barron’s or the WSJ on multiple occasions throughout his career. The passive index would eat his lunch on multiple occasions — often getting beaten by 50 percentage points — or more — on multiple occasions!

If God were an active investor, he would be fired and looking for a new job.

These results highlight the fickle nature of assessing relative performance over short horizons. We’ve shown this quantitatively, but Ben Carlson talks about the challenge of short-horizon thinking here, and Meb Faber recently highlighted that investors are terrible at timing active investments.”

However, the terminology used to make the argument is like fingernails on a blackboard for me.

I really wish people would stop confusing “drawdowns” (actual withdrawal of assets under management (AuM) by multiple investors, even if the price isn’t under pressure) with “sell-offs” (when even one price-insensitive marginal seller can crater the price); confusing the two is like confusing a leaking fuel tank (a reduction in AuM) with a car crash (a reduction in P (Market Price)). One is a loss of volume; the other is a violent change in state.

In fairness, there has always been a technical term sometimes used as a portfolio management metric, as an exclusively backward-looking calculation in a pitch deck to show the “Maximum Drawdown” (MDD) a strategy had endured, which was the the peak-to-trough percentage during a specific period, but not often used, and certainly not to describe sell-offs.

It is used to demonstrate the portfolio manager’s intestinal fortitude. Institutional investors needed a way to measure risk-adjusted returns that was more “pain-sensitive” than the Sharpe Ratio (the industry standard for measuring risk-adjusted return using standard deviation). By using MDD, they could calculate the Calmar Ratio (Annualized Return divided by Max Drawdown), which answered the fundamental question: “Was the 15% return worth the 30% heart attack it took to get there?”

However, using an abbreviated form of MDD to describe a live sell-off confuses historical risk reporting with real-time market mechanics.. It’s like a doctor confusing a “patient’s history of fainting” (MDD) with “the patient currently being hit by a bus” (a sell-off).

The “God” Portfolio (1927–2016): A Mechanical Breakdown

Even with perfect five-year look-ahead foresight, an active manager would face three distinct layers of professional “death” that the modern “drawdown-obsessed” trader fails to distinguish:

1. The Return: Despite the chaos, God compounds at roughly 29% annually. Over the 90-year study period, this level of outperformance is so extreme that the manager would eventually own the entire planet’s equity market.

2. The “Car Crash” (Price Sell-off / Loss of Value): This is the violent change in state. Even knowing the winners, God’s long-only portfolio endured a 76% peak-to-trough price collapse during the Great Depression and multiple 20% to 30% “crashes” in modern times. The Reality: These are market sell-offs driven by price-insensitive marginal sellers. The “car” (the asset price) is smashed, but the engine (the investment thesis) is still technically intact.

3. The “Leaking Tank” (AuM Drawdown / Loss of Volume): In the real world, this is the actual “drawdown” of assets under management as investors pull their capital. The catalyst (relative underperformance) is the psychological trigger. God’s portfolio frequently lagged the S&P 500 by as much as 50 percentage points. The effect (the leak) is that seeing that 50% lag, investors panic and redeem. This is a liability-side event that can happen even if the underlying prices haven’t “crashed” yet.

The Breakdown of God’s 1929 “Crash”

https://alphaarchitect.com/even-god-would-get-fired-as-an-active-investor/

That 76% “Car Crash” in the Alpha Architect study represents the onset of The Great Depression (1929–1932) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Depression . Even “God”, holding the absolute best-performing stocks of the next five years, was not immune to the systemic sell-off of the 1929 crash.

The Sell-off (Market Price P): Between September 1929 and mid-1932, the “perfect” portfolio dropped 76%. This wasn’t because God’s companies were “bad”; it was because the marginal seller was a forced liquidator. Banks were failing, margin calls were being triggered, and everyone was hitting the “bid” (panic selling, not caring about the bid ask spread ... “get me out at any price!!!) just to survive.

The Drawdown (AuM Volume): In the real world, no client stays through a 76% drop. The AuM Drawdown (redemptions) would have been 100%. The “tank” would have been empty long before the market hit the bottom. If one confuses that 76% sell-off with a drawdown due to fears over the strategy’s quality, you conclude that God is a “bad manager.”

In reality:

The Strategy was perfect (it held the winners).

The Sell-off was a violent “state change” in the market (P cratering).

The Result was, because God stayed in the “smashed car,” he eventually compounded at 29%.

https://alphaarchitect.com/even-god-would-get-fired-as-an-active-investor/

People today would see the first 15% of that 1929 sell-off, label it a “breach of drawdown limits,” and sell the best portfolio in human history at the exact moment the “marginal seller” was exhausted.

You can survive a Car Crash (Price Sell-off) if you stay in the vehicle until it’s repaired. You cannot survive a Leaky Tank (AuM Drawdown) because once the fuel is gone, the car stops moving forever.

The Michael Burry “Phantom Drawdown”

As Michael Burry is widely regarded as our most recent God-like investor, let’s review his experience. In 2006, he had already identified the subprime mortgage bubble. He bought Credit Default Swaps (CDS) to bet against the housing market.

1. The Leaky Tank (AuM Drawdown / Loss of Volume )

As Burry waited for the housing market to collapse, he had to pay “premiums” to keep his short positions open. This “theta decay” caused the fund to slightly underperform a rallying bull market.

The Result: His investors panicked. They didn’t see a “car crash” (a drop in asset prices); they saw a “leaking tank”, and they demanded their money back.

The Drawdown: Burry faced massive redemptions (actual withdrawals of AuM). His “tank” was leaking so fast that he eventually had to “gate” the fund, i.e. locking the doors so investors couldn’t leave. This was a true drawdown.

2. The Car Crash (Price Sell-off / Loss of Value)

While the investors were screaming about the “drawdown” in AuM, the actual market price (P) of the subprime bonds hadn’t crashed yet. In fact, for most of 2006, housing prices were still rising! There was no sell-off in the underlying assets. The car hadn’t hit the wall; it was simply stuck in traffic while the gas leaked out.

3. The Resolution

If Burry had listened to those who confuse drawdowns with sell-offs, he would have closed the positions to stop the “AuM leak” and miss the greatest trade in history. Because he understood that a drawdown in AuM is a liability issue, not a valuation failure, he held on. When the Car Crash (sell-off) finally happened in 2007/2008, the bonds cratered, the fund’s value skyrocketed, and those who hadn’t “leaked” themselves out of the tank made a fortune (Scion eventually recorded a net return of 489%).

The lesson for us all

If one uses the terms interchangeably, one would describe Burry in 2006 as “failing” because of his “drawdown.” In reality, his valuation (P) was fine; his volume (AuM Volume) was simply under pressure from impatient investors. Burry’s investors tried to fire him because of a true drawdown (the AuM leak) precisely when he was positioned for the biggest sell-off (price crash) in history. Someone who doesn’t know the difference will be the very one asking for your money back the day before the 489% gain.

Fortune Favors the Brave

Ultimately, the 4% Rule (Bessembinder’s Ghost https://wpcarey.asu.edu/department-finance/faculty-research/do-stocks-outperform-treasury-bills ): Only 4% of stocks drive the market. This creates a “needle in a haystack” problem. To hold those 4%, you must be willing to endure massive relative underperformance when the other 96% are “meme-ing” or caught in a momentum bubble.

The “Iron Law of Equilibrium” dictates that a diversified portfolio is structurally capped by the sum of real GDP growth (2–3%), inflation (2%), and a risk premium (2–3%), inevitably gravitating toward a long-term nominal return of roughly 7%. While “God-like” concentration in the 4% of stocks that drive all outperformance could theoretically yield 29%, the act of diversifying to avoid “car crashes” (sell-offs) mathematically dilutes those gains back toward the systemic mean. Ultimately, any strategy attempting to sustain returns significantly above the 7% cost-of-money threshold for decades must eventually hit a “sovereign ceiling,” as no private portfolio can outgrow the aggregate economy indefinitely without becoming the market itself.

So please, watch your language! https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/the-fuddy-duddy-manifesto

Have you seen a “God-like” strategy abandoned because investors mistook a price sell-off for a strategy drawdown? I’d love to hear your “Car Crash” stories in the comments.

My paternal great-grandmother Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener was born 149 years ago today, on 25 Mar 1877; she died the day before her 72nd birthday on 24 Mar 1949. For a woman born before electricity was common, whose ancestor fled a mercenary army to farm Pennsylvania soil, to end up preserved on motion pictures feels like a small miracle ... a fleeting moment of color in what was otherwise a black-and-white era.

The Great-Grandparental Birthday Series - Part 1 of 8
“Every man has two deaths, when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name. In some ways men can be immortal.” – Ernest Hemingway

I’ve always commemorated my parents’ and grandparents’ birthdays with Facebook posts on their birthdays. This year I’ve decided to expand that to my eight great grandparents on theirs. This is the first in that series.

Their lifespans ranged from 1867 (right after the Civil War) through 1981 (when I was in high school), a 114 year period during which momentous societal changes occurred. In current generational parlance, they were Missionary Generation through Lost Generation. I’ve written about how 1996 might’ve been the most pivotal year for our current timeframe https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/1996-the-year-the-world-changed , but imagine going from horse-drawn carriages to watching men land on the moon on television in one lifetime.

Most (six out of eight of them) were Pennsylvania Dutch https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pennsylvania_Dutch , and we really didn’t move too far away from our point of disembarkation in Philadelphia to Berks County, Pennsylvania, which remains our family home. I have written extensively about them:

The remaining ¼ on my mother’s side were of English descent, going even further back than my Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors, but I know much less about this branch as my maternal grandfather was the only “Auslander” in our tightly-knit Berks County family. As the family records are less Teutonically-thorough, I have written more speculatively about them:

My paternal grandmother’s mother was Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener (1877-1949). She was the daughter of David Gardner Miller (1820-1901) and Elizabeth Gruber (1838-1892), who were part of the Trancendental and Gilded Generations, respectively :

“The transcendental generation was born between 1792 and 1821 and was of the prophet archetype. They started the Second Great Awakening across the United States. ... Strauss and Howe define the gilded generation (nomad archetype) as those born from 1822 to 1842. They came of age during rising national tempers, torrential immigration, rampant commercialism and consumerism, declining college enrollment, and economic disputes. This led to a distrust of zealotry and institutional involvement, shifting focus to a life of materialism. Most of the American Civil War soldiers were born during this period (the average age was 26).”

David Gardner Miller (1820-1901)

Her father David Gardner Miller was the grandson of my 4th great grandfather Johann Joerg (George) Miller Jr. (1754-1816), a Private in the 1st (Col. Daniel Hunter’s) Battalion1777, (Cpt. Nicholas Scheffer’s Windsor Township) Company, Berks County Militia (the same Battalion that put the Dieners in the field), during the Revolutionary War, and one of my 23 1/2 of my Revolutionary War veteran ancestors.

David Gardner Miller was also the great grandson of my 5th great grandfather Johann Joerg “Hunter George” Miller Sr. (1721-1801), who was from Feldkirchen, Gönnersdorf in the western Rheinland-Pfalz , arrived in Philadelphia on the ship “Aurora” in 1744 with his wife and two of their five eventual children, and settled in Windsor Township.

Elizabeth Gruber (1838-1892)

Mamie Miller’s mother Elizabeth Gruber was the paternal granddaughter of Simon Gruber (1750-1815), who came to Pennsylvania not as an immigrant, but as a Hessian mercenary. He was from Ansbach, Bavaria, and had been sold as a soldier by the financially-troubled local prince of his territory Margrave Alexander of Brandenberg-Ansbach to King George III of Britain, and was shipped to America to fight in the Revolutionary War. He was a grenadier who was attached to the 5th Regiment of the Ansbach Regiment, and likely arrived on Staten Island around June 3, 1777. Some detail from the preceding link:

“Carl Alexander said good-bye to his subjects on March 26, 1777 and returned to Ansbach. Two days later, the soldiers reached Dordrecht at the Dutch coast. In Holland, they were then mustered into English service and forced to swear an oath to the British King. Lord Suffolk, after the examination of the Frankish troops, said: “Such magnificent chaps, young and well- built, a small but wonderful corps. I was afraid they would not swear the oath of loyalty, but the presence of the Margrave had prevented further unrest.” Here, they were crammed aboard nine English three masted mast ships bound for North America, four for the two infantry regiments and one for the Jäger company.

A total of 1,285 officers and men left Ansbach on March 7 and arrived at Staten Island, New York around June 3,1777. Most were sent to Sandy Hook,N.J. where Gen. Howe placed 17,000 soldiers in 265 ships, the largest Armada ever assembled in America, and they embarked on a difficult six week journey to the head of the Elk River in Maryland where they arrived on July 3, 1777. They were held there until August 25, 1777. Later, in 1778, reinforcements were sent to America which raised their number of troops in British service to somewhere between 1,644 and 2,353 officers and men. Like the Hessian regiments sent to America, they remained in their own units with their own unit commanders and often in their own brigades. The infantry regiments were one battalion strong, composed of four musketeer companies and one grenadier. The infantry regiments were named after their commanding officers. Colonel von Voit initially commanded the infantry regiment from Bayreuth and later took command of the Ansbach infantry regiment. Major von Seybothen, company commander in the Bayreuth infantry regiment, became its new commanding officer.

The Jägercorps had four companies, one of which sailed with the first Anspach-Bayreuth contingent. A typical Jäger serving with the German Forces in North American was by trade a foresters or gamekeeper and a crack shot with a Jäger rifle which had better accuracy and range than a regular infantry musket. Jägers were trained to act individually or in small groups and they could be trusted not to desert. When the Anspach- Bayreuth infantry regiments mutinied at Ochsenfurth, the Feld-Jäger company under a Capitain von Cramon was employed to bring the infantry back into line. By 1781, there were 821 Jägers from Hesse-Cassel and 245 from Anspach in the British Army in New York alone.”

Here’s a Quick Looney Tunes break to describe Hessian Oppression:

Regardless of his skills (or lack thereof?) as a soldier, Simon mustn’t have liked his situation, and deserted August 18, 1778. This was a pretty big deal, as desertion in wartime was a capital offense. He eventually settled in Greenwich Township, Pennsylvania and had a farm there, parts of which were passed to his son Samuel Gruber (1799-1866) and then his grandson Morgan Gruber (1850-?), the younger brother of my second great grandmother Elizabeth Gruber, my great-grandmother Mamie Miller’s mother. Simon didn’t just end up on the right side of history by accident; he chose it, at real personal risk. He then settled, farmed, raised a family, and passed land down through generations. That’s a pretty complete American immigrant story, just with an unusual on-ramp. You might say he earned his place more consciously than ancestors who simply arrived peacefully.

Mamie Miller married Irwin Albert Diener (1867-1936) on 7 June 1898, when she was 21 and he was 31. I will similarly write on his birthday on 22 October, but a preview from an entry in my genealogy software from the “Historical and biographical annals of Berks County, Pennsylvania, Morton L. Montgomery, J. H. Beers & Co., 1909”, a remarkably detailed commercial journal:

“Irwin A. Diener, senior partner of the firm of Diener Brothers, was born at Topton, Oct. 22, 1867. He attended the borough schools and the Keystone State Normal, and then taught public school for three terms. He became associated with his father [Peter Leibensberger Diener (1836-1906] in the mercantile business in 1898, and has continued in this business to the present time. He assisted in establishing the silk mill at Hamburg in 1902, and retained his interest in this enterprise until 1906, having acted as manager, accountant and treasurer of the company. He retired from this company on account of the death of his father, in order to devote all his time to the large general store which his father had developed with the assistance of himself and brother. He is a public-spirited citizen of the borough, taking an active part in the Board of Trade, and serving as a school director.

In 1897 he was married to Mamie L. Miller (daughter of David G. Miller of Hamburg). She taught public school at Hamburg for four terms, was active in the Sunday-school work of St. John’s Union Church, and served as organist of the church for a number of years. They have four children: Paul A. [Paul Arlen Diener (1899-1949)], Walter M. [Walter Miller Diener Sr. (1902-1989)], John B. [John Bertram Diener (1904-1974]] and Mary Olive [Mary Olive Diener (1908-1969), who later married James Sisk]. [Note that they had three more children, Karl Miller Diener (1911-1981), my grandmother Christine Elizabeth Diener (1913-2011), and Irwin Albert Diener Jr. (1915-1967).] Mr. Diener is a member of the F. & A. M., Lodge No. 406, and of Camp 76, P.O.S. of A. He has served as superintendent of the Sunday-school of the First Reformed Church since 1905. In politics he is a Republican.”

Diener Brothers Department Store, 4th and Pine Street, Hamburg, Pennsylvania circa 1898. Captions self-explanatory.

As stated in the article, she taught in the Hamburg Area public schools for four terms, was active in the Sunday school work of St. John’s Church , and served as organist of the church for a number of years. My parents still have her practice organ at their home to this day.

As her obituary indicates, she was very active in the community:

It’s interesting to consider that Mamie Miller’s paternal great-grandfather fought on the American side, and her maternal great-grandfather on the British side as a German mercenary. Her husband Irwin Diener’s second-great-grandfather was Johannes Peter Diener (1753-1798) Pvt., 1st (Col. Daniel Hunter’s) Bn. 1777, 5th (Cpt. Jacob Hill’s West District) Co., Berks County Militia, and his great-grandfather Matthias Leibensberger (1764-1830) was a Pvt., 1st (Lt. Col. Samuel Ely’s) Bn. 1780, 1st (Cpt. Charles Krauss’ Maxatawny & Longswamp Twp.) Co., Berks County Militia. These were all members of the Republican Generation:

“They came of age during a time when the viability of mercantilism and imperialism was being questioned both in Europe and the Americas. Relying on Enlightenment philosophy, they unleashed violent episodes of revolution, vilified Monarchy, and promoted Republicanism. In colonial America, they participated in the American Revolutionary War, secured America’s independence from British rule, and established the American government.”

The proximity of the German starting points are also interesting: “Hunter George” Miller was from Gönnersdorf and Simon Gruber was from Ansbach. Johannes Diener’s father Heinrich Gerhard Nagel Diener (1720-1772) was from Birstein, and Matthias Leibensberger’s grandfather Hans Johann Georg Leibensberger (1692-1767) was from Ilshofen, Schwabish Hall. One could drive between them all on the autobahn in about six hours, and they all ended up in Berks County.

Anticipating some questions from the eagle-eyed amongst us, even though “Miller” is a very common name, yes, my paternal grandparents were second cousins once removed, as George Miller Jr. (1790-1858) and his wife Catherine M. Gardner (1796-1886) were both a paternal second great grandfather/grandmother of my grandfather, and a maternal great grandfather/grandmother of my grandmother. This wasn’t at all unusual those days.

I still own some of Mamie’s ancestral forest land off the Appalachian Trail that I inherited from my Gran Chris. These plots were common as a firewood source amongst people who lived in town.

Some early photos, where she appears to have been in her teens or 20s.

A framed tintype my parents still have in their attic. My grandmother’s handwriting on the back.

A Diener family photo from what appears to be Spring 1914 with (l-r, t-b), Walter “Diney” Miller Diener (1902-1989), Paul Arlen Diener (1899-1949), John Bertram Diener (1904-1974), Mary Olive Diener (1908-1969), my grandmother Christine “Gran Chris” Elizabeth Diener (1913-2011), my great-grandmother Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener (1877-1949), and Karl Miller Diener (1911-1981).

Another Diener family photo from what appears to be Fall 1918, with (l-r, t-b) John Bertram Diener (1904-1974) and my great-grandmother Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener (1877-1949), Karl Miller Diener (1911-1981), Walter “Diney” Miller Diener (1902-1989), Paul Arlen Diener (1899-1949) ... wearing a WWI-era uniform), Mary Olive Diener (1908-1969), my grandmother Christine “Gran Chris” Elizabeth Diener (1913-2011), and Irwin Albert Diener Jr. (1915-1967).

Addendum: I found this snippet in the 9 Feb 1928 Reading Times, perhaps explaining the uniform the above photo. I think Paul and Karl might have both been at Staunton Military Academy. In the photo Paul appears to be in his late teens, and was 12 years older than Karl, so the date math squares.

The Diener Family Home, 145 S. 3rd. Street, Hamburg, Pennsylvania. right around the corner from the Diener Brothers Department Store at 4th and Pine Street. Source: Google Maps.

Diener Brothers Department Store at 4th and Pine Street, Hamburg, Pennsylvania.

My great-grandmother Mamie in her living room at 22 N. 4th Street in Hamburg, Pennsylvania.

My paternal grandparents lived at 22 N. 4th Street after they were married in 1937. Photo taken by the author, 15 Apr 2025.

Historic property designation, 22 North 4th Street, Hamburg Pennsylvania. Photo taken by the author, 15 Apr 2025.

The door knocker at 22 N. 4th Street still has my grandfather’s initials on it. Photo taken by the author, 15 Apr 2025.

My great-grandmothers (l-r) Cora Susanne Lenhart Miller (1878-1949) and Mary Laura “Mamie” Miller Diener (1877-1949) at my grandparents Robert George Lenhart Miller Sr. (1913-1999) and Christine Elizabeth Diener’s (1913-2011) wedding in Hamburg, Pennsylvania, 4 Sep 1937.

Wedding movies here:

The whole reel was probably taken 1935-37. Gran Chris (1913-2011) and Grand Bob (1913-1999) swimming with her brother Walter Miller Diener Sr. (1902-1989) and wife Ruth Virginia Hiltebeitel (1909-1965). Switches to color at the same place (Pine Forge/Grove, Schuylkill County?). Then skiing behind what looks like Lenhart Farm in Lenhartsville (right off of the north side of what now is Interstate 78). Some kid in a flying cap. Color footage of someone else’s wedding, with Blue Mountains in background, so must be Hamburg. Then building a duck blind. Then color artistic wheat field shots, clearly northern Berks County, with old-fashioned haystacks. More footage taken of the foothills below The Pinnacle, through which I-78 now runs. Note the Revolutionary War-style split-rail fences. Out-of-focus foliage, then back to black and white of the North fourth Street house, and some kids on tricycles. Then Grand Bob with their terrier. Then the start of their wedding footage from 4 September 1937; lots of people standing around lines. Gran Chris’s father Irwin Albert Diener (1867-1936) died the year before, but her mother Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) as well as Grand Bob’s Father R.P. Miller (1882-1954) and mother Cora Sue Lenhart (1878-1949) are in frame.

This is another film from the Poconos circa 1937:

At around 2:00 in, that could be either my paternal great-grandmother Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) or my paternal great-grandmother Cora Sue Lenhart (1878-1949). Not many 19th century people were captured on color motion pictures.

Then another from the early ‘40s:

First, Kodachrome backyard blossom shots, North 4th Street, Hamburg, PA. Then, I believe great-grandfather R.P. Miller (1882-1954) himself and unidentified wearing white gloves. Then Grand Bob and Gran Chris walking in the garden. Uncle Munny (Edmund Solomon Miller)’s daughter Lynda Miller (1940-) in red and white shirt with Gran Chris. Then great-grandmother Cora Sue Lenhart Miller (1878-1949) in the blue polka-dot dress, R.P. Miller, Chris & Bob. Then Dad (1940-) with garden sprinkler. Then Dad and Aunt Cynthia (1943-) on the pedal car that’s still up in the rafters in the barn. That sailor suit is also still somewhere back home. Then grandmother shows up with a baby, so perhaps that’s Aunt Gretchen (1944-), which would back-date this to 1943-44. Then there’s Uncle Munny in WWII naval uniform ... he would’ve been in his late 20s after graduating from Duke. Then native American dress-up.

I also have a color home movie from the late ‘40s:

It’s a kids’ pony party at Tall Spruces; my Grand Bob is shown delivering drinks at 1:34 with either of my great grandmothers Cora Susanne Lenhart (1878-1949) or Mary Laura Miller (1877-1949) (I can’t tell which) in frame, so this might’ve been 1947-48 right before they both died. He’s also shown leading a pony at 3:25.

Mamie Miller Diener died 24 Mar 1949, the day before her 72nd birthday. For a woman born before electricity was common, whose ancestor fled a mercenary army to farm Pennsylvania soil, to end up preserved on motion pictures feels like a small miracle ... a fleeting moment of color in what was otherwise a black-and-white era.

Cassandra Unchained

History Rhymes: Large Language Models Off to a Bad Start?

New York Times, Saturday, June 19, 1880…

Read more

6 months ago · 300 likes · 59 comments · Michael Burry

I’ve written a lot about how we pine for the past https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/secrets-of-the-worlds-greatest-investor and https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/the-golden-calf-of-optimization , and I’ve also written a lot about family genealogy, with a bit of a socioeconomic tilt https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/you-say-you-want-a-revolution . But I’m not suggesting we seek to recreate some sort of idealized past to which we should try to return; I’m suggesting the world has always been a bit chaotic, precarious, dangerous, and difficult to predict ... and day-to-day life and people’s emotions and “animal spirits” were much the same.

The real fun is in reading the adverts and using the CPI Inflation calculator https://www.bls.gov/data/inflation_calculator.htm to see how much stuff costs in today’s dollars in order to avoid money illusion https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Money_illusion . Therefore, I will convert everything to today’s money in my comments.

My Paternal Grandfather’s Wall Street Journal (1964)
Years ago, whilst going through some family files I stumbled across one of my paternal great-grandfather’s office copies of the Wall Street Journal dated Friday 5 June 1964 https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-89TTUNsSCaMXowaWxxTGxPRWM/view . I read it cover to cover in one sitting to see what’s changed, and what’s stayed the same.

So what really jumped out? The generally optimistic (smug?) tone. Lots of defense contractor and general industrial (extraction, railroad) ads. Huge interest in and competition over interest rates on time deposits, which were still capped by Regulation Q. Lots on commodities (cotton, sugar, iron ore, etc.). Britain was mentioned quite a bit. “Financial innovation”, even in the form of simple options, was still pretty new, and relegated to somewhat tawdry-looking ads toward the back of the paper. Reflecting the prevalent business culture at the time, it feels very “Establishment”, with ads for tropical-weight suits, outdoorsy gadgets, and vacation houses. Civil rights, desegregation and Vietnam were mentioned, but the Summer of 1964 might well have been a high water mark of socioeconomic hegemony coinciding with American’s post-war industrial dominance. Don’t forget that the Beatles had just appeared on Ed Sullivan a few months before https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ed_Sullivan_Show .

Page 1: The look-and-feel and font haven’t really changed much at all. One article reports that college freshmen were extremely well prepared, partly as a result of the post-Sputnik high school educational push (recall that “Animal House” was set around this time, so perhaps that was a high water mark as well https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_House ). Chrysler bought “major British auto maker, Rootes Motors, Ltd.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rootes_Group . The Dow was at 802.48; the CAGR to get that to today’s c. 49,000 is roughly 7%. Richard Nixon thought insurgent candidate Barry Goldwater would “wreck the (Republican) party,” and “[m]ost European newspapers expressed editorial disapproval of Goldwater’s victory in the California primary. The Moscow press said he had ‘the brains of a peacock’. But conservative papers praised him, as did the Italian Fascist press.” Michigan Governor Romney (father of the future presidential candidate) is trying to implement a factory lock-out. Items on the federal civil rights bill and desegregation of New York City schools, as well as on the slow escalation in Vietnam. Right-hand article is on challenges faced by the Blue Cross/Blue Shield not-for-profit health insurance plans.

Page 2: The British Pound was at c. $2.80 (compare the Cable rate at $1.35 today). There’s an ad for a “nautical tie tack” for $24 ($252) and matching cufflinks for another $65 ($682!). Note that Eaton ad at three-‘o-clock prominently bragging that it was founded 53 years before, something one seldom sees today. Boeing won a US Air Force contract to maintain B-52s; who’d’ve thought they’d still be in active service today.

Page 3: A company called “Subscription TeleVision” was attempting to disrupt broadcast TV with a no-commercial pay service over telephone lines for around $4 ($42) per month. The six-member EEC was bickering over grain pricing. Recall that they had just a few years previously rejected Denmark, Ireland, Norway and the UK’s application for membership https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_Economic_Community#Enlargement_and_elections .

Page 4: At seven-o’-clock, the first of many ads for insured bank deposit rates, this one from Crown Savings in El Monte California at 4.85%. There’s also an ad for a $60 ($630!) pair of CB walkie-talkies.

Page 5: More ads for 4.65% interest rates, including one from Southern California Savings that compounds daily and gives an effective rate of 4.85%.

Page 6: More on civil rights on the opinion/editorial (“OpEd”) page. There’s a cartoon at the bottom that I don’t get at all.

Page 7: Ads from extraction companies today definitely don’t say things like “capable of gouging out 60 cubic yards of earth at the same time”.

Page 8: Would any modern reader of the Wall Street Journal even know what a fractional-speed motor is, much less a surplus one for $15 ($157)?

Page 9: Note that almost all of these banks offering virtually identical 4.9%-ish interest rates are in California. During the ‘60s, savings and loans and banks in Southwestern states paid much higher interest rates than in the rest of the country because growth was faster, and there was greater demand for new home mortgages, and they had a smaller proportion of low-yielding mortgage loans than most lenders back East. This was classic “3-6-3” banking: Borrow at 3% from the regional Federal Reserve, lend at 6% and be out on the golf course by 3:00PM.

Pages 10-12: Read the real estate ads and appreciate how much desirable residential real estate has outpaced pretty much every other asset class.

Page 13: The “positions wanted” section makes one wonder what ever happened to them.

Page 14: Bonds, bonds, bonds. Oh, and notice the odd ad at seven-o’-clock from the “Investitions-und-Handels-Bank” of Frankfurt (Main).

Page 15: “Salomon Brothers & Hutzler” at eleven-o’clock, and a tombstone with Goldman, Sachs & Co. as an also-ran. There’s also a promotion notice from Paine, Webber, Jackson & Curtis, one of my old employers which became simply Paine, Webber and then was eventually bought by UBS. Fun fact; Their ticker remained “PWJ” until the very end.

Page 16: Looks as though that “proposed freeway” never got built.

Page 17: Mostly NASD OTC listings, but look at nine-o’-clock for the complete list of those newfangled “Mutual Funds”.

Page 18: I never knew there used to be a” Honolulu Stock Exchange.” Little ads declaring dividends were clearly a big thing.

Page 19: American Stock exchange (a.k.a. “The Curb”) listings. First ad at three-o’-clock for “Puts Calls Sellers” from C.B. Richard, which was a 5 Hanover Square across from another old employer of mine, Kidder, Peabody https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kidder,_Peabody_%26_Co. .

Page 20: The NYSE (a.k.a. “The Big Board”). Note the sole ad on the page is yet another one from a defense contractor.

Page 21: Almost the only charts in the whole paper. Hand-drawn, of course. But the real highlight on this page is the cluster of ads for “Special Put Options” at five-o’-clock; then, incongruously, tucked under those is a completely random ad for The Bank of New York, “New York’s First Bank founded 1784.”

Page 22: The article on U.S. auto output reports by week, by model (!). Japanese and German competition was only a few years away.

New Arrivals

On the same theme, back in 2010-11, I wrote work pieces extolling the virtues of reading very old newspapers to gain economic insights, using my paternal grandmother, father, and myself. Through the magic of Google News Archive Search, I’d managed to track down editions of our hometown newspaper http://readingeagle.com/ announcing our births.

I’ve re-written and consolidated the text, plus reflected another 15 years worth of inflation.

My Paternal Grandmother’s Birth Announcement (1913)
My paternal grandmother died in 2011 at 98 http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/tucson/obituary.aspx?n=christine-diener-miller&pid=152605525 . She was born 17 Jun 1913; here’s a link to the local newspaper two days after she was born (sadly there’s no scan of the paper from the day of available) https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=ZuSUVyMx-TgC&dat=19130619&printsec=frontpage&hl=en :

1913 was the first year of the CPI data, and I’ve often used the experience of her age cohort (which includes my paternal grandfather born two months later on 11 Aug 1913 https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=ZuSUVyMx-TgC&dat=19130811&printsec=frontpage&hl=en ) to caution against money illusion and the corrosive effects of inflation. Most expensive women’s shoes at Pomeroy’s was $4 or $91 today. A piano was $249 or $8,181 today. A refrigerator was $65 or $2,135 today. Heinz ketchup $0.13 a bottle now $4.27, and a case of beer was $1.00 or $33 today ... Prohibition was only seven short years away! By the way, 1913 was also right as the debate about instituting a federal income tax reached a boil in the US http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Income_tax_in_the_United_States#Ratification_of_the_Sixteenth_Amend .

My Father (1940) and My (1965) Birth Announcements
I then tracked down my father’s birth announcement from 1940 http://news.google.com/newspapers?id=dw0xAAAAIBAJ&sjid=guEFAAAAIBAJ&pg=5928%2C5857470&d ...

... and mine from 1965 (for some reason, I made the front page!)

Through The Momentous Emerges The Mundane
How was this exercise remotely relevant to investment (other than perhaps wanting to stay long Google stock)? Well, these were all years right on the cusp of massive socio-political and economic change … interspersed with the mundane.

The thing that really jumped out at me was that despite all the headlines that we can now only read fully cognizant of how things turned out, look at how many things are remarkably similar; furniture, car and clothing ads, movie and vacation ads, group activities, and all the other really mundane elements of day-to-day economic life interspersed between alarming headlines such as “Race Track Suicide of Male Suffragist” (byline Ascot), “Blow in West Hitler’s Plan, Goering Says” and “Air Raids Resumed on North (byline Saigon).

I’m also gobsmacked at how consumer goods as “share of wallet” remain remarkably consistent once one adjusts for inflation ($1 in 1913 = $33, $1 in 1940 = $23 and $1 in 1965 = $10. For instance, there’s an ad from my father’s paper showing 1) a base-model Packard automobile for $867 ($20,142), 2) a pair of ladies’ shoes for $11 ($256) and 3) an RCA console radio for $60 ($1,394) with trade-in; those are pretty much about what families pay for a basic car, a premium pair of high-heels and a flat-panel TV today. There’s clearly an important lesson in the need for long-term inflation hedging in there somewhere.

Plus ça change, plus c’est pareil.

Addendum: College Days
Apropos this topic, my paternal grandmother, who died in 2011 at 98, kept an interesting time capsule from my grandfather’s freshman year at Lehigh 90 years ago back in 1932: A college humor magazine called “The Lehigh Burr” https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ZkO-zkJ2TiJY_jlxyjTyKAeHqvgYJL1O/view .

When reading through it, remember that $1 in 1932 was equivalent to $25 of today’s dollars. In general, I was surprised how New York City-centric much of the advertising is. This was also printed one year before the end of Prohibition https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prohibition_in_the_United_States .

P. 2. Lunch $1.00 and dinner $1.50 is $25 and $30 in today’s dollars. I think we’re the beneficiaries of economies of scale and lowered standards these days when we’re all too happy to scarf up a slice or two in lieu of a proper dinner. “Come on, you drunks! Get your name in the paper!” Note also in the Hotel B barber shop ad “OUR PRICES HAVE BEEN REDUCED TO FIT THE TIMES” a.k.a. The Great Depression https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Depression .

P. 6. Dinner and a swim at the Shelton (49th and Lex) for $1.50 is c. $37 in today’s dollars ... which feels about right https://overnightnewyork.com/hotel-history/the-new-york-hotel-youve-never-heard-of-that-inspired-georgia-okeeffes-famous-skyscraper-and-cityscape-paintings/ .

P. 9. My grandfather was a Lehigh Chi Psi, my father was a Lehigh Phi Sigma Kappa. I was a Lehigh Chi Phi. The houses are within 50 yards of each other http://maps.google.de/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=de&geocode=&q=chi+phi+lehigh+bethlehem&sll=51.151786,10.415039&sspn=20.585...961,39.331055&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Chi+Phi,+Bethlehem,+Northampton+County,+Pennsylvania+18015,+Vereinigte+Staaten&ll=40.603181,-75.38004&spn=0.003034,0.004801&t=h&z=18 The “Oh, yeah!” hand annotation is my grandfather’s ... which shows how fraternal rivalries start and really never end.

P. 11. This item talks about the annual “Laugh and Yet Game” , a play on “Lehigh-Lafayette Game, the most-played American college football rivalry https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rivalry_(Lafayette%E2%80%93Lehigh) .

P. 13. “Walter Windshield” clearly a spoof of Walter Winchell http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Winchell . Media was a surprisingly pervasive element even at that time ... I still have the portable Victrola my grandmother took to Wellesley; the iPod of its day. Artie Shaw’s “Begin the Beguine” blows the dust out of it every time.

P. 14. This makes references to airships of the US Navy to make a funny “who’s on first”-style joke https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Who%27s_on_First%3F re: the Lehigh coach confusing them with football teams https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_airships_of_the_United_States_Navy . The Shenandoah crashed in 1925. The Los Angeles (German-designed and built) was decommissioned in 1932. Morris Plan banks lent to the poor https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morris_Plan_Banks . Auburn was a make of car https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auburn_Automobile , and Austin is probably a reference to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_Austin_Bard . Knut Rockne’s “aerial attack” refers to a change in college football tactics he’d introduced https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knute_Rockne#Notre_Dame_coach and https://www.nbcsports.com/college-football/news/one-century-later-rocknes-innovation-changed-the-gam .

Recall that the Hindenberg blew up at Lakehurst, NJ, in 1937 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LZ_129_Hindenburg ... “Oh, the humanity!” https://www.theonion.com/ask-that-hindenburg-announcer ... .

P. 24. Life Savers were still sort of a new thing https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Life_Savers .

P. 28. A discreet ad from “Club Caprice”, which appears to have been a Bethlehem speakeasy https://www.sipnalive.com/.../WT_Reflects_on_Drink.htm .

“When I arrived at Lehigh University, I discovered that good beer and drinks were cheap and readily accessible there, too. It seems that the chief of police of Bethlehem, PA, was a former chaplain at Lehigh. Knowing the students, he apparently felt that they were going to drink anyway, and the same went for the workers at the Bethlehem Steel works, so he let the bars operate and just kept an eye on them. The students’ favorite saloon was Mickey White’s, which had a 72-foot bar. During fraternity house party weekends, the bar would be lined up three deep. On one such night, we found a policemen in front of the place. Our first thought was that Mickey White’s had been raided. But no, the cop was just directing the parking. There was a small bar not far from the campus which we liked. It was run by a man who had been a football player for Lehigh many years before. I’m not using the word “student.” (By the time I got to Lehigh, the university was boasting about its simon-pure athletic sponsorship policy.) A group of the town’s doctors would meet there and talk about their cases. I won’t repeat here some of the ripe yarns that I overheard. I was home for the weekend shortly after Prohibition was repealed in 1933. As I got off the bus I decided I would like to have a drink. But now that it was legal to drink, it was illegal to drink on Sundays! I told my dilemma to one of the locals I had exchanged pleasantries with in the past. He led me down an alley, knocked on a door, and I was admitted to membership in the Club Caprice. Private clubs were permitted to serve liquor on Sundays. Later, at a second-floor bar, I was initiated into the Jeffersonian Democratic Club. When I joined Sigma Phi Epsilon I also joined the nearby Beethoven Mannerchor, a German organization which had a large men’s chorus, a women’s chorus and an orchestra. It had a spacious building which student dues were in large measure responsible for and which consisted of an upstairs auditorium and a large downstairs barroom. We’d like to get to the Mannerchor on Wednesday nights at about the time the men’s chorus was ending its rehearsals. The thirsty singers would then crowd down to the bar and, after quenching their thirsts, would set up a chorus of “We want Schlegel.” This meant that, after the serious singing, they were ready for the director to lead them in some fun singing. With the repeal of Prohibition, student drinking gradually diminished. The novelty of defying the Constitution wore off.”

I get the feeling that at the time that, rather than being “student athletes” at peak athletic performance, football players had a reputation somewhat akin to that rugby players have today: “Work hard, play hard” ... emphasis on play.

Also P. 28. another discreet ad from “Fred Banko, Bottler, East 4th Street”. He founded Banko Beverage http://lehighvalleymarketplace.com/banko-beverage and https://www.bankobeverage.com/

“Founder Frank Banko Sr. emigrated from Yugoslavia in 1908 and planted his roots in the Lehigh Valley by channelling his entrepreneurial spirit into a soda bottling business, Banko Beverage. After the Prohibition was repealed in 1933, he added Schaefer beer to the company’s repertoire. When he passed away in 1937, he left the business to his son, Frank Banko Jr, who quickly recognized an opportunity in the business of beer. He expanded the company to supply more brews to the Lehigh Valley area with great success, eventually supplying the goods of Miller Brewing Company in 1969 and D.G. Yuengling and Sons in 1988. The partnership with these two major breweries would become the pillars that today hold up Banko Beverage.”

If memory serves, most Lehigh fraternities bought their beer from either Banko or Geiger Beverage.

I’ve written about my radio hobby in the past https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/from-tube-radios-to-old-ipads-the and https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/from-tubes-to-tablets . Somewhat out of character, I wrote a bit of a screed on how upset I am about the shutdown of Voice of America https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voice_of_America .

The other night I picked up a strong signal on my Icom IC-703. S7 signal strength, excellent reception on my modest ladder-line-fed antenna tucked under the eaves. The automated British voice was crisp and clear, reading weather reports from around the world: “Tango Golf Hotel... David International... temperature twelve, dewpoint eight...” It was Military One Information VOLMET, broadcasting from Cornwall, UK, on 5.450 MHz. Over 1,200 kilometers, booming through on just my little 10-watt QRP rig and a compromised antenna.

It was a great DX (long-distance) catch ... but it wasn’t what I was hearing that struck me. It was what I wasn’t hearing.

I’m a licensed amateur radio operator with both US and German tickets. My father and I have been radio amateurs (“hams”) and shortwave listeners for decades.

He’s back home in Pennsylvania with his Icom IC-725. on a vertical. I’m here in Germany with my even more modest rig. We compare notes on what we’re hearing on the bands. And lately, we’ve both noticed the same thing: Voice of America is gone. Not fading. Not weak. Gone.

So is BBC World Service https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BBC_World_Service , for the most part. Radio Canada International https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radio_Canada_International ? The antennae were literally torn down years ago. And lest you think this is purely an American failure: Deutsche Welle https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deutsche_Welle , broadcasting from just up the road, ended its shortwave transmissions entirely on 31 December 2025. This week, they announced another round of cuts: 160 jobs gone, the Greek service shuttered after 60 years, budgets slashed for Africa and Afghanistan services. The West isn’t just retreating ... it’s retreating in formation. The difference, if it matters, is this: Germany is cutting reluctantly, under budget pressure, while politicians stay conspicuously silent. America cut enthusiastically, as a statement. One is a slow bleed. The other was a self-inflicted wound.

But you know what’s absolutely blasting through? China Radio International https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China_Radio_International . Strong signals, multiple frequencies, dozens of languages. Voice of Turkey’s https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voice_of_Turkey still there, and Radio Romania International https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radio_Romania_International sounds like they’re in my living room.

The pattern became impossible to ignore: The West has abandoned shortwave radio. And while we walked away, others moved in.

“So who cares about shortwave radio?” you might ask. “Isn’t that obsolete technology from my grandfather’s era?” China and Russia spent heavily on jamming Western broadcasts when they existed, which is itself evidence of effectiveness. If shortwave didn’t matter, why bother jamming it? VoA broadcasting to Eastern Europe during the Cold War is well-documented as having real influence on dissidents and ordinary citizens behind the Iron Curtain. Lech Wałęsa and others have credited it as inspirational. I once read someone saying that the collapse of the Iron Curtain had as much to do with shortwave radio and the satellite dish as all the military might.

VoA was created by the Smith-Mundt Act of 1948 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smith%E2%80%93Mundt_Act specifically to broadcast to foreign audiences. That law also prohibited domestic distribution, which means cutting it isn’t “saving money,” it’s abandoning a statutory mission. Here’s the thing everyone in Washington and London seems to have forgotten: Billions of people in the developing world still rely on shortwave radio as their primary source of international news.

Why? The economics are brutal and simple: A shortwave receiver costs $10-30, it runs for weeks or months on AA batteries, and solar charging makes this trivial. It works anywhere; remote villages, refugee camps, conflict zones, and requires zero infrastructure; no cell towers, no internet, no satellite dishes. It can’t be censored without massive jamming investment, and still works when disasters knock out everything else.

Meanwhile, internet or satellite radio requires a smartphone ($100+), ongoing data costs, reliable electrical infrastructure for charging, cell towers or satellite dishes ... all of which governments can block, throttle, or monitor. Think of people under Nazi occupation in WWII listening to broadcast from their eventual liberators.

According to estimates, there are somewhere between 600 million to 1.5 billion shortwave receivers in use worldwide. In Africa, only 37% of the population had internet access as of 2023. These aren’t people choosing retro technology for nostalgia ... they’re using what actually works in their reality.

Let me give you some numbers that should enrage you and some perspective on what America just threw away:

Voice of America’s budget in 2023: $267.5 million. The entire U.S. Agency for Global Media (which included VoA): $882 million in FY 2024 ... that’s 0.013% of the $6.78 trillion federal budget. Put another way: VoA cost less than what the U.S. government pays in debt interest every three days.

For that microscopic investment, VoA reached 361 million people worldwide in 49 languages. That’s about 74 cents per person reached annually. And what did we get for those 74 cents per person? We had America’s story told ... accurately, credibly, in people’s own languages, especially to audiences in authoritarian countries who had no other source of uncensored news.

Then, in June 2025, the Trump administration and “DOGE” sent layoff notices to 639 VoA employees, an 85% staff reduction. Broadcasts were cut from 49 languages down to just 4: Persian, Mandarin, Dari, and Pashto. The VoA Charter (1976) explicitly committed to “accurate, objective, and comprehensive” news, a credibility guarantee that took decades to build and was destroyed overnight.

So to “save” 0.013% of the federal budget, we surrendered 85 years of credibility, reach, and soft power projection.

The Punchline

While America was congratulating itself for “modernizing” and “cutting wasteful spending,” China was doing the opposite. China spends approximately $10 billion per year on external propaganda and soft power projection. That’s 10-37 times more than the entire USAGM budget, depending on which estimates you use. China Global Television Network (CGTN) now broadcasts to 1.2 billion people in six languages and is expanding to 200 international bureaus.

China Radio International uses a strategy called “borrowing a boat to go out on the ocean”; they partner with local radio stations worldwide without disclosing Chinese government sponsorship. They’re literally taking over the frequencies the West abandoned.

When Australia shut down its shortwave service in 2017, China immediately moved in and took over those frequencies. The same thing is happening with BBC and VoA frequencies.

Right now, sitting in Germany with my shortwave radio, I can hear China’s version of world events loud and clear. What I can’t hear is America’s, not the rest of the West’s.

An “Own Goal”

The British have an expression for this: an “own goal”, which is when you accidentally score against your own team. This is the geopolitical own goal of the century.

Think about what’s happening:

Billions of people in developing countries, with cheap radios that run on batteries, often in countries where internet is restricted, unreliable, or unaffordable, are now hearing ONLY Chinese, Russian, and other authoritarian narratives about democracy vs. authoritarianism, human rights, trade and development, and the United States and the West.

And this was entirely self-inflicted. Voluntarily. To save 0.013% of the budget.

The Marshall Plan (adjusted for inflation) cost about $103 billion. We spent that money to win hearts and minds and rebuild Europe after WWII, and it worked. It was one of the most successful foreign policy investments in American history.

China has pledged $1.41 trillion for “Belt and Road” and related initiatives. Even during the Cold War, the United States and Soviet Union didn’t spend anywhere near what China is spending today on soft power.

And we can’t find 0.013% of our budget to tell our own soft power https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soft_power story?

What I hear from my shack:

Every evening, I tune across the shortwave bands. My father does the same from Pennsylvania with his rig. We hear:

China Radio International - strong, clear, professional, in dozens of languages.

Radio Romania International - still broadcasting with serious power.

Turkey’s TRT -reaching across Europe and beyond.

What I no longer hear:

Voice of America (dead).

BBC World Service (mostly dead, tiny Ukraine-only service).

Deutsche Welle (dead).

Radio Canada International (antennas demolished).

There went any credible Western voice reaching billions of people who can’t otherwise access or afford internet.

I’m not nostagicly pining for the “good old days” (although it was really great to have been a participant in the Golden Age of Shortwave Radio in the ‘60s through the ‘80s https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shortwave_radio and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shortwave_listening ). I’m witnessing the collapse of American soft power in real-time, one empty frequency at a time.

The Tragedy

Here’s what makes this so maddening: It’s completely reversible. The infrastructure still exists. The expertise exists (or did, until they laid everyone off). The technology is proven, cheap, and effective. The audience is there: Billions of people with cheap shortwave radios, waiting to hear something besides Chinese propaganda.

We’re not talking about building an aircraft carrier ($13 billion) or developing a new fighter jet ($1.7 trillion for the F-35 program). We’re talking about less than 1% of the defence budget. Less than what we spend on military bands and PR. For the cost of a few fighter jets, we could reach hundreds of millions of people with credible, accurate news in their own languages.

But instead, we’ve decided that’s all “obsolete.”

Who’s Listening?

You might wonder “so who still listens to shortwave anyway? Here’s who:

Rural villagers in Africa with no internet access

People in authoritarian countries where internet is censored.

Refugees in camps with no infrastructure.

Sailors and maritime workers.

Remote communities in developing countries.

Anyone in a disaster zone when modern infrastructure fails.

Ham radio operators and shortwave listeners worldwide (guilty as charged).

And increasingly, people who only hear Beijing’s version of the world, because that’s all that’s left on the air.

The Bottom Line

I’m just a ham radio operator with a modest station and a love for DX. But what I’m hearing, and not hearing, on the shortwave bands tells a story that should alarm anyone who cares about America’s place in the world. We’ve unilaterally disarmed in the information war. For less than the cost of debt interest payments for three days. While our adversaries are spending billions to fill the vacuum we created.

And most Americans have no idea it even happened.

Tonight, I’ll tune across the bands again. I’ll hear China, loud and clear. I’ll hear Turkey, Romania, maybe some European stations. But I won’t hear America, or Canada, or Britain, or Germany. And neither will billions of other people around the world.

Future historians will have a hard time explaining this one. Not because it was complicated ... it wasn’t. Not because the cost was prohibitive; it was rounding error. But because a civilization that once broadcast its values to the farthest corners of the earth decided, apparently, that it had nothing left worth saying.

China disagreed. And they’re saying it now, on every frequency we vacated, to everyone we abandoned.

You don’t need to take my word for any of this. Spend $20 on a shortwave receiver and tune around 5-15 MHz on a weeknight evening. Listen for an hour. Listen to what’s there ... and what isn’t. Then ask yourself: If you were a farmer in Mali, or a student in Uzbekistan, or a dissident in Belarus with a battery-powered radio and no internet whose version of the world would you be hearing?

Because they’re hearing it right now. And the message isn’t ours.

As I still take notes and think faster in English than German, apologies for this being a mix of both, but I tried to summarize up top and include the rest in supplemental notes.

Summary
The essential conclusion is that fruit trees should be trained into a wineglass shape (pyramidal, with a narrow top and wide base), with 4-6 scaffold branches (Leitäste) from the trunk, each ideally dividing into roughly three upward-facing secondary branches (Seitenäste). So, 12-18 secondary branches total, all well-spaced, outward-facing, and bathed in light and air. The wineglass/pyramid shape ensures that the upper branches don't shade the lower ones, which is the other key principle underlying the whole structure. Every leaf needs light to photosynthesize, and every branch needs air circulation to resist disease. Young trees (<3-5 years) should be pruned with their eventual shape after 10 years in mind. Trees younger than three years aren’t in their prime fruiting days, so prune them more heavily to encourage strong structure. Trim mature trees sparingly to make sure their energy goes into producing fruit, rather than upward growth. Non-productive vigorous vertical shoots are called "water sprouts/shoots" in English, and should be removed; they tend to form more on the north side of the tree to seek sunlight. Fruit trees shouldn’t be great shade trees; if you would comfortably sit under an apple tree to shelter from the sun, it’s likely time to prune it back. Why bother with all this? The goals are structural integrity, long tree life (including protection from disease), energy efficiency, and maximum fruit yield.

How trees work
The two main vascular tissues of a tree are xylem (the wood itself, which carries water and minerals up), and phloem (the inner bark, which carries sugar/carbohydrates down after photosynthesis). Cambium is the microscopic active, living, dividing layer that produces both new xylem inward and new phloem outward, and is responsible for wound healing and the tree’s ability to seal over cuts. It also explains why bark-stripping or girdling (cutting a ring all the way around a trunk) kills a tree; it severs the phloem all the way around, starving the roots of sugars, and the tree dies from the bottom up. Deer rubbing antlers on young trees causes exactly this kind of damage.

Buds (Sprosse) are remarkable structures as they have meristematic tissue at their core; they start as undifferentiated cells pre-programmed to enable it to divide and become any functional element ... leaves, flowers, shoots, or fruit! As the bud develops into a shoot, it will differentiate into all three vascular tissues. Vegetative buds contain the blueprint for leaves and shoots. Flower buds (which on an apple tree are also called fruit buds) contain the compressed beginnings of the entire flowering and fruiting structure (petals, stamens, pistil, and ultimately the developing fruit itself). Mixed buds contain both shoots and flowers/fruit together.

One should trim the upper buds (Oberensprosse), and leave the lower buds untouched Buds on the top of a branch (Obersprosse) tend to produce vigorous, upward-shooting growth ... exactly the unproductive water sprout type growth you want to avoid. They get more light and the tree’s natural apical dominance encourages them to shoot upward. Buds on the bottom of a branch (Untersprosse) tend to produce more horizontal, outward growth that develops into productive fruiting spurs rather than vigorous vegetative shoots. So by removing the upper buds and leaving the lower ones, you’re actively steering the branch’s energy toward fruit production and away from unproductive vertical growth. It’s the same underlying logic as why you always cut to an outward-facing bud ... you’re directing future growth by choosing which buds you leave.

There are two primary growth hormones at work: Auxin is produced in shoot tips, and travels downward through the phloem; it normally dominates and suppresses the bud (apical dominance, which is the tree saying “I’m already growing up here, don’t bother”). The evolutionary logic is that it’s more efficient for the tree to focus energy on one dominant upward shoot racing toward the light via cell elongation and root development rather than wasting energy sprouting lots of side branches simultaneously. In a forest competing for canopy space, this makes perfect sense ... get tall fast and don’t spread yourself too thin.

Cytokinin is produced in the roots, and flows up through the xylem, and promotes budding and branching. The roots are saying “we’re absorbing water and minerals down here, we have capacity, and we want to support more growth and branching”, and encourages cell division (growth), bud activation (branching), leaf development (photosynthesis), and fruit development (reproduction).

The bud sits in the middle between those two competing signals, so a single fine cut (Kerben) just above or below the buds (Knospe) shifts the balance between the two hormones. Fruit growers are essentially siding with the cytokinin agenda against the auxin agenda. Every time you prune a tip, remove a water sprout, or notch above a bud, you’re suppressing auxin dominance and giving cytokinin the upper hand. The tree wants to be tall. You want it to be fruitful.

Therefore, when you make a small notch, a shallow cut through the bark, just above a bud, you interrupt the downward flow of auxin past that bud, which causes the bud to receive relatively more upward-flowing cytokinin and less growth-suppressing signal. The result is that the bud “wakes up” and pushes out as a shoot rather than staying dormant. This is useful when you have a gap in your scaffold branches and want to encourage a specific bud to break and fill that space.

A notch below a bud has the opposite effect; it can suppress upward cytokinin flow and slow a bud you don’t want to push too hard. Timing matters: notching is most effective just as buds are swelling in early spring, before they break. The “center step” context makes sense; on a central leader tree, you’re trying to develop well-spaced lateral branches, and notching lets you coax a branch out of exactly the spot you want rather than hoping the tree obliges.

When and how to prune
Young trees (Jungbäume) should be pruned in March or April to avoid damaging branches or impeding growth. Get clipping after the last frost, but before your tree starts sprouting new growth (about March through April, in most places where apple trees grow). Trimming too early might weaken your tree during the coldest months. Pruning too late might damage it when it’s trying hardest to grow. If you miss this window, perform a light prune in late July or August. Avoid pruning in the fall, since any new growth will die off come winter. Thin out the fruiting buds so that they’re about 15 cm (6”) apart, and only contain one fruit per bud.

Scaffold branches are the thick, primary branches that jut from the center leading branch. Typically, a well-pruned apple tree has 4-6 scaffold branches, which grow in 2-3 tiers. Select 3-4 well-spaced about 25 cm (10”) apart, strong scaffold branches in your young tree, and cut the rest off at the base. Opt for scaffold branches growing at 45- to 60-degree angles from the trunk (measured with 90 degrees up, 30 degrees with 0 degrees up) to encourage outward growth. Allow the tree grow 2-3 new scaffold branches each year until maturity, maxing out at six total scaffold branches after about five years. Seen from above, the scaffold branches of the tree will ideally look similar to a star or the spokes on a wheel.

When cutting branches with buds, cut at an angle about 6mm (1/4”) above a bud that faces away from the trunk of the tree. This encourages healthy, new growth. Prune away any branches growing downward, since these won’t be able to bear significant fruit. In addition, trim away any sprouts growing straight up from the branches (known as “water shoots/sprouts”), which divert energy from fruit-bearing limbs.

Trees older than 3-5 years (Altbäume) are approached slightly differently. Prune off any shoots growing from the base of the tree (“suckers”). Routinely cut away dead or damaged wood, as well as any branches growing vertically or downward. Lop off any competing leading branches. The leading branches are the central, vertical branches that emerge from the trunk. Generally, an apple tree should only have a single, stocky leading branch to pioneer upward growth. If this branch forks, select the fork that’s thickest and most upright, and cut away the other. Cutting away entire branches in this manner is known as “thinning”. The majority of the fruiting wood should be quite young - one to four years old, which is the wood that fruits best.

“Whorls” are locations in which three or more small branches originate from the same location, and are especially common in more mature trees. Because so many limbs are growing at the same place, the branch is weaker and unable to support the branches as they grow. Cut away all but the thickest, strongest shoot, and also cut away the smaller branches in any areas where branches are touching or overlapping.

On an older tree that hasn’t been pruned, cut back the rest of the branches by about 1/3 of their length to encourage the stems to thicken and develop flowers the following season. Make each cut just above an outward facing bud to encourage a healthy shape. With very old trees, resist the temptation to prune off large limbs. These are at risk of decay. As a general rule, think twice before cutting into branches that are more than 10-12cm (4-5”) in diameter. If you must prune that branch, trace it away from the tree to see if there is a narrower section, perhaps where it forks and prune there instead, and avoid leaving a stub.

If you’re really ambitious, since apple trees tend to grow more fruit than they can reasonably produce, once your tree is fruiting, remove young fruit by hand, so that there’s only one per cluster of buds. Also remove fruit so that each is about 15 cm (6”) away from the next fruit on the branch. This helps the tree grow large, healthy apples, rather than an abundance of smaller, less preferable fruit.

Essential equipment
Rigger’s belt with holsters for:

Hand bypass cutter/pruner (BrE secateurs) for c. 2.5cm (1”) limbs. Anvil-type is suboptimal.

Finer scissors-type pruning shears for buds.

Field knife for cutting twine, etc.

Coarse arborist’s saw for branches wider than 7.6cm (3”); Silky Zübat 300mm 7.5-6.5 TPI (teeth per inch) https://www.amazon.de/-/en/Silky-Ultimate-Professional-Gokai-Me-Dimensions/dp/B0CG9TSVF1 .

Fine arborist’s saw (Jungbaumsäge) for scoring tiny budding notches and low-vibration cleanup work; Silky Gomtaro Fine 270mm 11 TPI https://www.amazon.de/S%C3%A4ge-Gomtaro-270mm-blau-fein/dp/B0014C4NIS/ .

As I’m wading into things, I found a combination saw Silky Gomtaro Pro Sentai 300mm with both 8 TPI and a 12 TPI sections https://www.amazon.de/Silky-Hands%C3%A4ge-Landschaftsbau-Pro-Sentei-108-30/dp/B0014CA058 .

Using a tool that’s too small for the job can damage the branch. Using one that’s too large might result in clumsy, improper cuts. For safety reasons, instructor recommended only using hand saws with a thumb guard. The Fiskars 300mm we have with the hunting Revier equipment is too coarse at 4-5 TPI https://www.amazon.de/-/en/Fiskars-Sw84-Handsaw-Fixed-Blade/dp/B0039U5V7K/ref=sr_1_7 .

Other equipment:

Bypass lopping shears https://www.grube.de/marken/castellari/ for limbs 2.5-7.6cm (1-3”).

Telescoping pole lopping shears; the type with the actuator inside the pole is best.

Telescoping pole saw.

Pole with hook to remove stuck cut branches.

Ladders should be secured with spikes on the rear cross member https://www.obstbaumschnittschule.de/produkt/leiterdornen/ .

Hoe and scythe, for clearing grass 50cm around base of tree (Baumscheibe).

Plastic splints (Astklammer), twine (jute or plastic), coconut yarn for supports, wooden stakes.

Supplemental stream-of-consciousness notes:

A source the instructor recommended is Michael Grolm https://www.permakultur.de/ueber-uns/menschen/information/michael-grolm , who has produced some excellent videos , and appears as a guest on a number of others

. und https://www.youtube.com/@agroforstwirtschaft

He’s a beekeeper as well:

This is some English background material from the RHS https://www.rhs.org.uk/fruit/apples/pruning-made-easy , as well as from various agricultural extension agencies https://extension.psu.edu/pruning-apples-and-pears-in-home-fruit-plantings .

Northern-facing fields for orchards ( Streuobstwiesen oder ”SOW”) are actually preferable due to better water retention.

Germany has 3,000 Malus https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malus (apple and crabapple) varieties/cultivars (30,000 worldwide); the edible part is called pome fruit, with the edible part is largely derived from the receptacle (the bit around the core), not the ovary itself https://www.pomologen-verein.de/ and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_apple_cultivars .

Germany has 700 Pyrus https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pear (pear and related quince) varieties/cultivars (5,000 worldwide); they also produce pome fruit, with structure similar to apples. Pears are notably more susceptible to fire blight than apples, which matters for pruning hygiene.

Germany has 30 Prunus https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prunus (stone fruits: cherries, plums, damsons, gages, sloes, peaches, nectarines, apricots, and almonds) varieties/cultivars (600 worldwide); the edible part is called a “drupe”, which is a fleshy fruit with a hard stone/pit enclosing the seed.

Pome fruit (Kernobst) is apple, pear, quince, etc. can be pruned any time, but optimally in winter/late winter (January–March, above -4°C).

Stone fruit (Steinobst) is cherry, plum, Mirabelle https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirabelle_plum should be pruned back by 21 December, preferably summer/post-harvest (July–September).

Watch out when discarding pressed apples (Trester), as it can be considered illegal wildlife feeding (Fütterung).

Space in trees with a 15m margin to field edges and 15m spacing between trees.

Pruning anything over 5cm risks cutting into the heartwood structure of the tree https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kernholz .

Leitäste are “leading branches,” the main primary scaffold branches that emerge directly from the trunk (Stamm) . These are the thick, structural arms of the tree that everything else grows from. The central vertical leader (Stamm/Mitteltrieb) is sometimes called the Zentralleiter.

Seitenäste are “side branches,” the secondary branches that grow off the Leitäste. These are the ones that carry most of the fruiting wood.

One can bind together two weak end sprigs to train them out.

The Federal Nature Conservation Act (§ 39 BNatSchG) prohibits heavy pruning of trees, hedges, etc., from March 1 to September 30, with exceptions for gentle maintenance cuts or private gardens (in places with no local tree protection ordinances). It applies to private gardens, but with key distinctions between trees and other vegetation.

Hedges/Shrubs (Gehölze):

Strong pruning (”abzuschneiden, auf den Stock setzen oder beseitigen”) of hedges, bushes, and shrubs in private gardens is banned March 1–September 30.

Gentle form/maintenance cuts (e.g., removing new growth) are allowed year-round.

Trees (Bäume) in Private Gardens:

Individual trees (e.g., fruit trees) in house gardens are exempt from the seasonal felling/pruning ban under § 39(5) Nr. 2; strong cuts are theoretically allowed anytime.

Still, § 44 BNatSchG protects breeding/resting sites of protected species; check for nests first. Local ordinances may add restrictions.

There are more life forms in two handfuls of topsoil than there are people on earth.

Hay cutting height 7cm, and don’t drive >7km/hr to allow insects to scatter.

Mix some sand (5-10g/qm) in with grass seed. One should only use locally-sourced grass types ( zertifiziertes Saatgut).

When planting nursery trees, don’t pack the top of the tree ball hole too tightly. Keeping the top of the root ball clear of grass is one of the most effective things to encourage growth.

Best time to plant? Any time the ground isn’t frozen.

“Hollander Dreibein” support is only knee height; this way the ball can’t move around as wind blows; the 1.8m German variant has been found to be too high.

Trees actually show two rings per year, first a light one, then a dark one. Trees do not hibernate.

Lignin https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lignin is 30% of terrestrial non-fossil organic matter on Earth.

One is technically not allowed to cut down any tree with protected lichens (Flechte) on it. Algae actually symbiotic. Red algae on walnuts okay.

On prevention of tree decay, the CODIT (compartmentalization of decay in trees) system https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compartmentalization_of_decay_in_trees developed by Alex Shigo https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alex_Shigo demonstrated that when a tree is wounded, their cells undergo changes to form “walls” around the wound, slowing or preventing the spread of disease and decay to the rest of the tree. This led to reassessment of arboricultural practices such as pruning techniques and cavity treatments, which showed that many then current practices (such as coating cuts with tar or pruning paint) actually promoted decay or were ineffective https://pressbooks.lib.vt.edu/treesteward/chapter/4/ .

Fire blight (Feuerbrand, Erwinia amylovora) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fire_blight is a bacterial infection affected shoots and blossoms look like they’ve been scorched by fire, with that characteristic shepherd’s crook wilting of shoot tips and blackened, mummified blossoms staying attached to the tree.

Apple canker (Apfelkrebs, Neonectria ditissima) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canker is a fungal infection causes characteristic sunken, discoloured, often sunken and cracked patches on bark with the dead wood underneath. You prune it out and the key is cutting back to clean white wood.

Apple scab (Schorf, Venturia inaequalis) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apple_scab is arguably the most economically significant apple disease in Germany causing dark, scabby lesions on fruit and leaves. Almost every conventional and organic spray program is primarily aimed at controlling it.

Prune back to the healthy wood, and dispose of material by burning rather than composting. Tool sterilization is important if working with diseased trees. Use alcohol spray or dilute bleach between cuts.

Jacob-Fischer a common variety, but all apples are mixed by pollen.

An “old tree” can reach 50 years.

A trick with the arborist saw: Make one or two quick undercuts, then saw from the top for a clean drop without tearing off a strip of bark.

“Jede Fruchtsprosse kostet Kraft” = “Every fruit bud costs energy”.

These inspired me to write another piece, with perhaps more applicability to the modern world, on I’ve been slowly upgrading old equipment to interoperate with modern Bluetooth-equipped devices.

Bedside Manners
Years ago, 2014 to be specific, after I raved about the sound (and classic look-and-feel) of the Roberts Revival iStream https://www.shop-robertsradio.de/revival-istream-3l table radios at the London hipster hotels I frequented, my wife bought me one for home, which I’ve used on a daily basis since. I hooked a Belkin Tunecast II https://www.manualslib.com/guide/3175698/belkin-tunecast-ii-mobile-fm-transmitter-user-manual.html short-range FM transmitter to the audio line out so I could listen to Bloomberg business radio in the bathroom in the morning on a Sony ICF-579W https://www.manualslib.com/manual/263549/Sony-Icf-S79w.html shower radio I’ve had for decades, independent of the speaker volume. The Roberts is FM, DAB+, and internet radio-capable (it came with a built-in mode for “last.fm” subscription radio, which was clearly the wrong bet at the time on Roberts’ part https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Last.fm ).

However, it was also before they offered built-in Bluetooth functionality, and after Apple removed their 3.5 mm (⅛ inch) audio out plugs, I found myself having to schlepp an iPhone or iPad into the bathroom and perch it perilously on the side of the sink to listen to podcasts or my music collection. I thought of upgrading to a new radio, but that seemed like a complete waste of a nice piece of gear, so I found a USB-powered Bluetooth dongle https://www.amazon.de/-/en/dp/B0816C7PQP for the princely sum of €10 on Amazon.de, which I could patch into the auxiliary plug (or switch to transmit mode should I ever want to use another Bluetooth speaker by simply pressing a button and switching to the headphone jack or line out).

Suddenly, I was all set with the functional equivalent of the newest models. And more importantly, I could port all of my iPad audio to the bedside table, which allows me to keep the volume very low and show good manners to others in the vicinity.

Throwing The (Den)on Switch
I then realized that I could buy another Bluetooth dongle https://www.amazon.de/-/en/dp/B0816C7PQP and stream music to the main Denon DRA-1000 https://www.hifi-wiki.de/index.php/Denon_DRA-1000 household hi-fi driving Bose speakers in the living room. I was especially proud of the fact that I could recycle an old Apple compact USB A charger by plugging it into the switched 230V outlet on the back panel of the receiver, such that the dongle is only powered up when the stereo is, just like the Roberts.

Continuing To Look After The Elderly
After I did that, I realized I could similarly equip the 1953 Land Rover Series 1 80” I drive https://gunnarmiller.substack.com/p/looking-after-the-elderly . To get around the same lack of 3.5 mm (⅛ inch) stereo plug problem, I ordered a third Bluetooth dongle to receive audio from my iPhone and drive to the really loud (and correctly-colored) €70 Metabo https://www.amazon.de/-/en/dp/B005NOMHV construction site radio with a shielded cable. It had a slight unavoidable ground loop buzz when the 12v charger adapter was plugged in (un-noticeable whilst driving) but even the low-level audio quality is flawless with battery power. I just had to drill a small hole in the front housing for the audio cable so the front door closes without manking the cable in the water-resistant housing edge. This still left the second 4.5v USB socket to charge the mobile devices. At that moment, I may have had the only 70-year-old Bluetooth-equipped truck in the world.

My kids eventually bought me a JBL Clip 4 Bluetooth speaker I subsequently found a bit less obtrusive …

… however, I found that I could re-purpose the Metabo for my cellar office to work with an old iPad I’ve kept down there for amateur radio. I could also use another forlorn Apple mini charger.

I also made a mono-to-stereo jumper for audio from my Icom IC-703 transceiver https://www.rigpix.com/icom/ic703.htm so the Metabo can act as a much more pleasant speaker than the tiny built-in one. I just have to swap the cables.

I just love to keep vintage gear cranking along. I now have a fourth Bluetooth dongle (they’re down to €7.99 https://www.amazon.de/dp/B0DMNQSYRH ) for which I’m seeking a project. I think I’m going to put it on the inputs to my wife’s old Phillips boom box from the 1980s for the guest room.

I’m now also thinking of similarly converting my parents-in-laws’ Lowe Opta tube radio from the early ‘60s https://roehren-radio.eu/sammlung/radio/loewe-opta/luna-stereo-5741w/ .

A cheap Bluetooth module plus some cables, plugs, and a USB transformer from the junk box is a ridiculously inexpensive and immensely satisfying upgrade.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” -- Arthur C. Clark

Coda
Besides all the amateur radio stuff, it makes shortwave listening a lot more pleasant. There’s no more Voice of America, and BBC World Service is pretty thin these days, so I’ve gravitated toward two German shortwave oldies music stations: Radio Channel 292 https://www.channel292.de/ on 3955 kHz , 6070 kHz, and 9670 kHz, as well as Shortwave Radio Gold https://shortwavegold.org/ on 3975 kHz and 6160 kHz. They sometimes get stepped upon by China Radio International and others, but are reasonably reliable.

It’s like listening to WFIL-AM https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WFIL , which was a pre-FM Top 40 station on the Shartlesville Elementary School bus in the early ‘70s https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shartlesville,_Pennsylvania .

Philadelphia radio in the ‘60s through the early ‘80s was truly a golden age https://phillyradioarchives.com .

I’ve tried to recreate some “best of” collections of my pop music memories on some Spotify playlists which I stream through these vintage devices:

High School

Cape & Islands

Funky Town

Smooth Music

New Music

Mountain Bike

The City

One is an iPad Air 2 (A1567), about eleven years old, capped at iPadOS 15.8.5. It’s no longer welcome in the modern app ecosystem, but it still does exactly what I ask of it: light-duty computing and ham radio tasks, logging, control apps, reference material. It’s stable, predictable, and perfectly adequate for its job.

The other is even older: My mother-in-law’s iPad 4 (A1548), stuck on iOS 10.3.3. It has exactly one mission in life now: Flying a Parrot AR.Drone using FreeFlight 2.4.22, and it performs that mission flawlessly. In fact, it works better than many modern phones and tablets, which often struggle with the drone’s old Wi-Fi and video protocols. In a funny way, this decade-plus-old tablet is the ideal controller for that aircraft.

These two devices got me thinking: Why did some electronics age gracefully into useful second lives, while others became candidates for the recycling center almost immediately?

Because when I look around the rest of my house, and my radio shack, the pattern gets even more interesting.

A Shack Full of Survivors

Amateur (“ham”) radio has always been a refuge of over-engineered (often mil-spec copper-clad circuit board) hardware, and my own collection spans decades and continents:

• Sony shortwave portables such as the ICF-SW1, SW11, and SW7600GR — compact, precise, and still excellent performers after decades of use.

• Icom transceivers such as the the IC-703 and IC-725 — built for field work and long duty cycles.

• Kenwood TH-31BT handhelds that just keep charging and transmitting.

• MFJ VersaTuners, Dentron Super Tuners, Archer SWR meters — simple, rugged accessories that don’t care what decade it is.

Then there’s the older, heavier iron:

• Yaesu FT-102

• Drake R-4A and T-4X

• SBE SB1-LA linear amplifier

• Hallicrafters S-38E

• Hammarlund HQ-180A

• My German parents-in-law’s Loewe Opta tube-era receiver.

Much of this gear is older than many of the people using it today, yet it still powers up, still aligns, still communicates. This is hardware that was designed to be serviced, designed to tolerate heat, voltage swings, and long operating sessions. It was never meant to be disposable.

Which makes the next part of the story even stranger.

The Disposable Decade

In the early 1990s, I bought my parents a Toshiba “multimedia” PC for about $3,500 — roughly $8,500 in today’s money https://tedium.co/2021/07/07/multimedia-pc-standard-history/ .

This thing was a beast by the standards of the time:

• Terrestrial TV tuner

• Multiple floppy drives

… and, of course, a stack of boxed software — including about $60 worth of recipe programs my parents barely ever opened

Fast forward a few years, and the magic vanished. Windows updates broke the TV tuner, floppy drives became useless, and driver conflicts multiplied like rabbits. That $3,500 machine, which once felt like the future, became a very expensive paperweight. The recipe programs? A decade-long monument to good intentions and wasted cash. It felt like buying the future. And then the future immediately broke it.

Within a few years:

• Windows updates stopped playing nicely with the TV tuner

• Drivers vanished

• Floppy drives became pointless

• Peripherals required arcane workarounds or were simply abandoned

That $3,500 marvel turned into a very expensive paperweight long before the hardware itself was actually dead.

When I was recently cleaning up around the house, I noticed that a bunch of early 2000s Philips boom boxes in our orbit were no longer functional; CD mechanisms, power supplies, tape transports — gone. Yet my wife’s Philips boom box from the 1980s? Still works. Cassette decks and all. Ditto our 1989 and 2000 Denon home stereo components.

That contrast is hard to ignore.

The U-Shaped Curve

All of this points to something that feels almost counterintuitive:
consumer electronics seem to have followed a U-shaped durability curve.

The 1980s — Built Like Appliances

Electronics were heavy, over-engineered, and often repairable. Cassette decks, stereos, CRT televisions — not elegant, not compact, but built to survive abuse and long service lives.

The 1990s — Flashy and Fragile

This appears to have been the trough. Rapid miniaturization, exploding software complexity, proprietary drivers, and brutal cost-cutting collided. Devices were expensive but became obsolete incredibly fast, not because the hardware failed, but because the software ecosystem moved on and left them behind.

PCs clearly suffered the most:

• Sound cards

• Video cards

• Modems

• SCSI controllers

All dependent on vendor drivers that stopped being updated long before the hardware physically failed.

The 2000s–2010s — Longevity Returns

Then something changed. It’s very trendy to say that “everything today is just throw-away”, but that contention appears to be, counterintuitively, not the case.

Devices such as:

• The Nintendo Wii

• Mid-range audio gear

• Tablets and smartphones

… started lasting far longer in practical terms.

Several technical shifts made this change possible:

1. Wireless updates. Devices could receive firmware and OS fixes long after purchase, extending compatibility instead of freezing them in time.

2. Encapsulated digital electronics. Modern chip packages and surface-mount boards are far less sensitive to dust, vibration, and minor voltage irregularities.

3. Tight hardware–software integration. Fewer driver layers, fewer third-party dependencies, fewer ways for things to break when the OS updates.

That’s why our Wii still boots happily after sitting for 15 years in the basement, and why my iPads can slide into second careers as drone controllers and radio terminals instead of heading to recycling.

Cost Per Year of Use Matters More Than Sticker Price

Apple has always taken heat for upfront pricing. And yes, the sticker shock is real. But the more honest metric is cost per year of useful life. That Toshiba PC delivered maybe three or four years of practical usefulness. Apple has always played a different game. Macs and, later, iPads may have seemed expensive at first, but they age differently. Tight hardware/software integration, long OS support, and predictable updates meant a Mac or iPad could still perform useful tasks a decade or more after purchase. Unlike that Toshiba, which became useless the moment Microsoft and third-party vendors moved on, Apple devices often become tools for secondary lives — even if they’re no longer “modern.”

So,

• My iPad 4 is still useful after 13+ years

• My iPad Air 2 is still useful after 11+ years

• My ham radio gear spans half a century and still works

Even when devices fall off the modern app treadmill, they often remain extremely valuable in dedicated roles: Controllers, kiosks, media players, logging stations, test gear.

Old PCs, by contrast, often became:

• Driver experiments

• OS reinstall projects

• Or simply landfill

I don’t even want to add up all the hours spent coming back home after a Christmas present of PC hardware had been gifted to the parents and in-laws, only to sit there at Easter acting as a grumpy “help desk” removing dozens of toolbars and anti-virus programs that seemed worse than the viruses and/or trojans themselves. What was even more arrogant on the part of the manufacturers was that people would want go to another room, boot up a PC, and then load up whatever software they might’ve wanted to use (or print out a recipe!). That’s just not the way life works.

Also, the hardware interface via a simple glass slate works so much better than keyboards and mice ... with only a few occasional use buttons to fail. One we equipped everyone with iPads, their multi-year user experience skyrocketed.

What ham radio correctly envisioned

Amateur radio culture never forgot what consumer tech briefly abandoned:

• Long service life matters

• Repairability matters

• Stability matters

When your equipment is expected to be used in emergencies, in the field, and for decades, design priorities change. One builds for margin, not minimum cost. One builds for tolerance, not perfect lab conditions.

It turns out those same priorities also make great consumer electronics — when manufacturers choose to apply them.

The Real Lesson

Longevity isn’t nostalgia. It isn’t about old things being charming. It’s about engineering philosophy.

The devices that survive are the ones that were:

• Designed with margin

• Supported by stable software paths

• … and, in the modern era, kept relevant by wireless updates

The 1990s and early 2000s appear to have been a strange historical dip where complexity exploded faster than reliability could keep up. Before that, hardware was built as appliances were. After that, integration and software support finally caught up to the silicon. And somewhere between my old iPads, a basement Wii, a Denon CD player from 2001, and a shack full of radios older than I am, the pattern becomes hard to ignore:

Flash sells, but thoughtful engineering lasts … even if the $60 recipe software never got much use.